Lucky Ones
by Kobal
Summary: After she graduates, Ann is stranded. Saving up for a university would be easy if Momoshiro and Kirihara were not such distractions. But she is not alone. /Interconnected stories about the future, love, and money./MomoxAnnxKiri/SemiFutureFic/LARGE CAST
1. Common Denominator

**Hello! This is yet another brainchild of boredom. I would consider it to be my first real Prince of Tennis fan fiction...look at all those words! Hopefully motivation will not abandon me. **

**Anyway, this story is basically a series of short, connected stories revolving around inner turmoil and the future. Also, money. Because announcing pairings would give everyone a clear idea of what to expect, I have chosen to not do that. There are quite a few characters mentioned, and there are various layers that I really don't want to categorize as Person1xPerson2. Anyway, if you give this first chapter a shot though, you will have a good idea of what is/will be going on.  
**

**It is rated T...for obvious reasons I would say being...language, and people touching other people. **

**I thank you for your time. **

**

* * *

Lucky Ones

* * *

**Common Denominator

* * *

The newspaper page was marked up with a pen that for psychological purposes should not have been red. The fine print that had once been encouraging was now unbearably gray, and Ann Tachibana was far from keenly aware that her fingertips were stained black. This was a true outer-body experience, she knew. This was an epiphany, she knew. This was a change in the wind. As she sat on the crude bench that dug into her back uncomfortably, Ann let go of the "help wanted" section of the newspaper. She littered. And as the guilt slowly began to sink in, and the embarrassment came flooding back, she sank lower into the bench.

No one on the street gave her a second look, despite the shortness of her skirt, or her lanky arms pulled tightly across her stomach. Although Ann was slightly disappointed in her ability to attract wondering eyes, she found that she was more disappointed in her inability to attract eyes in general. Any interest in her what so ever was purely out of obligation. Nothing set her apart from the rest of the new high-school graduates being guided in one direction. Nothing except for her direction. Her direction did not lead to a university or a career.

In an attempt to welcome the future, Ann fell to her right, stretching herself out along the bench. This got some looks. Smiling to herself and flexing her fingers against the dry wood, she mumbled, "That's right." And shutting her eyes to the tall men in business suits and women with no nail polish, she found a solace in the creaky bench as she tried to ignore its location. Whatever kind soul had thought to dedicate a bench had obviously not taken into account the sidewalk in front of it, or the density of crowds trudging across said sidewalk.

Ann was not too far from traffic, a bicycle bell warned her. And as she waited in eager anticipation for someone to wander over and shake her eyes open, Ann wondered if anyone would stop her if she pulled herself up, and threw herself into that traffic. While she only relished on the attention for a moment, Ann quickly brought herself back to reality with the smell of doughnuts and the storm drain hiding under the sidewalk. She sat up, trying to stretch her spine and checked her cell phone. There were no messages, as she expected. No congratulations or questions, but she imagined that being awkward. More awkward was the inquiry than the answer, for she dreaded going back home to tell her brother that she did not qualify for the job. That she would not be able to get a job because she could not go to college because she could not scrounge together enough money. That the money was used up by her brother himself, and that he had unconsciously left her to die, homeless on the bench by a sewer.

It was then that Ann's eyes drifted across something. Drifted, in the sense that it took her a while to figure out what she was looking at before she bolted up from the bench, arms above her head, shouting. "Over here! Momoshiro!"

More heads turned, the most important of which gave way to a beaming smile as the boy jogged towards her. "Yo," He said. It had not been a long time since Ann had last seen him, since she had taken in the cheery sag of his shoulders or the crooked smile or the fingers brushing themselves through black hair, but she was happy now.

The newspaper completely forgotten, Ann burst into quick conversation about tennis. She prided herself in not letting her awkwardness show through quivering lips, and it was obvious that Momoshiro did not pick up on it, for he joined in, reminiscing about his final year at Seigaku's high school, about his graduation that she did not make it to, and then, softly, about his scholarship.

Ann was happy about it. She was happy that one less person she cared about would not have to lie on that bench and sink into a momentary bout of depression. But she sighed unconsciously, hands fluttering to her hips as Momoshiro mentioned tennis. The sport had become the cause of Ann's problems, in simplest terms. She spent time counting the reasons she should hate it, she had lengthy conversations with herself about why she needed to stay away from it.

"It would be really nice to catch up with you." She said, grounding herself with solid reality, solid fact, the present: "Do you wanna go out for coffee sometime?"

**

* * *

**

Masaharu Niou did not need to look up from his magazine to recognize the person entering the room. He merely dragged his eyes across the word _Theatre _before feeling the pressure at the end of his bed; still, he did not look up. The familiarity of the weight was simple, the balance the legs struck, the fidgeting on the thin sheets, they were behaviors he knew all too well. "It's not like you to skip practice like that," He said flatly, all the while his stomach fluttered. "Coach is going to think you aren't a perfect combination of academics and physical dedication…and what would you do then…"

"Haru."

In half a second, Niou had dropped the magazine. The delicate emphasis on the first syllable told him something was wrong, that his full attention was needed. He had become able to detect the smallest fragments of emotion in his name, mostly because of the range of people who use it. But whether or not it is a sharp escalation of the _Ha_, combined the low crash of the _–ru_, he had always been able to detect this. This essence of vocal weakness he suddenly felt in his knees. "What is it, Hiroshi?"

It was bizarre, almost unconventional, how Yagyuu's body betrayed his emotions, Niou noted. Mentally, he flipped back through the pages of his memory to at least five times when Yagyuu had told him _no_ and really meant _yes please_. The way his posture was still perfect despite the glasses clenched in his hand—not tightly. The way he begged Niou's name conflicted with the boy's perfectly dull mouth, accented not only by his inexpressive eyes but his firm eyebrows. "Do I have your attention?" Yagyuu asked.

"Of course." The only thing keeping Niou from bursting out in laughter was the sheer confusion that rattled his mind, the mass of contradiction sitting before him in either a marriage proposal or a dirge.

"My father has suffered a heart attack. Last night. At about six."

"Holy fuck."

Niou had known Yagyuu's father to be a very strict person. He knew that Yagyuu, for most of his life, had been jealous of his sister, who, throughout their teenage years, was the only one of the two who were allowed to hug him. He knew Yagyuu's father was the one who got him into this university, and he knew that Yagyuu's father put great faith in his son to carry on the family name and get grades that made his immature friends drool.

"He isn't dead. Just unsettled." Yagyuu, calmly placed his glasses back atop his nose and sighed. "We do not know if he will be able to keep his job."

Niou waved his hands in front of Yagyuu vigorously. "Hold on!" He shouted. "Hold on. So your dad is okay? He won't die? How is your family doing? Are you going home? Do you need me to do anything?" It was an awkward panic. Awkward, because it was not connected to Niou in the way most panic is. This was a different fear, a fear for someone unquestioningly more important than himself. "Your father," He said slowly, "had a heart attack."

"Last night." Yagyuu added.

"Are you okay?"

"No." Yagyuu said simply. "That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Amongst the raging shivers and speedy blood flow, Niou tried to pull himself together. He took four deep breaths the way Jackal had always told him to do, and he rubbed his forehead. "Talk to me."

"I am thinking of dropping out of school."

"Fuck no—"

"Let me finish Haru. It is not just because of my father. But the incident made me realize that it is probable, so probable, for a person to die just like that. You may think this sounds crazy, but I want to do things. Things I cannot do here. I have had an epiphany. And I know this might be hard for you to hear, being that you do not listen to others well—yes, you know it is true—and I think that you would benefit from…well, not following me this time."

This was too much. Unrealistic. This boy sitting before Niou was not the boy he loved. Not the one he played tennis for. Not the one he shared a room with. Not the one he applied to this university for. It was bad. This moment was bad. Niou had never felt like this before. He did not remember giving Yagyuu this much control.

"What the _fuck _are you talking about?"

* * *

"You're parents are totally gonna catch us," Ryo Shishido hissed. "Like, really. You are dead."

"No way." Choutarou laughed. "Jirou taught me the art of _sneaking in_. I've mastered it. There is nothing to worry about. I've got this."

"I wouldn't listen to anything Jirou says." Shishido muttered, kicking a small pebble for the sixth time during that evening. It was his favorite time of the day, caught in the middle of afternoon and dusk. When the glow of streetlights were not far off, and punks with baggy pants brought out skateboards and the sun disappeared around the roofs of houses. Not to mention, the sunlight did wonders for Choutarou's hair. "Remember when he ate that whole box of chalk? Yeah that was messed up."

"Well…" Choutarou mumbled, "he seemed to know what he was talking about…"

Shishido kicked the rock again, but this time with too much force, sending it into a storm drain under the sidewalk. "Just don't get caught. You could, like, lie or something—say you're at my house studying and—"

"No, no." Shishido watched as Choutarou held up his hands in defense. "It's cool. Really. My parents won't mind."

A breath of frustration escaped Shishido's lips as he looked for another rock to kick. It send a shiver of fear down his spine, almost a paranoia whenever Choutarou's family came up in conversation. He remembered every so often the first time he had seen the cross necklace the other boy always wore.

It had been a long day, and a strenuous practice mostly attributed to the fact that Atobe had gotten into another fight with his girlfriend left everyone frustrated and exhausted. Their king had left before they had even left the courts, after pulling out his cell phone and running his fingers through his hair. In the locker room, Shishido had picked a fight with Gakuto, probably on purpose, because of a comment about the Scud Serve. The image of Gakuto clocking him with incomprehensible strength was forever burned into Shishido's mind. And when his eyes had opened and the light on the ceiling came into focus, he could clearly see Choutarou's necklace, shiny with sweat and irony.

As Shishido continued to play doubles with Choutarou, he wondered more and more about the boy's religion. He feared that every innocent touch may have an underlying conversion behind it. He feared secret glances had become obvious. It had been like the dream where he comes to school naked. Every time he made eye contact with Choutarou he felt a surge of confusion and fear. His stomach burned with the thought of being judged by him. Day after day he reminded himself that Gakuto and Oshitari were the gayest people he had ever seen, and that he, out of everyone else on the team, was probably the least likely to be discriminated against.

But then Choutarou kissed him. And the fear grew. And his world changed.

"Are you okay?" Choutarou asked. "You don't look too good. If this is a bad time…"

"No!" Shishido cried. "Not at all! I've been…I mean, this is fine. I'm fine."

They sat down at an awkwardly small table outside of a relatively boring-looking restaurant. Shishido fumbled awkwardly with the seat of the chair before looking for people around him. There was no one. The seats sat baron, the tables to collect dust; inside, there was soft music playing, it drifted through open doors and windows. They chose this place often, not for everything it was, but for everything it was not. No waiter or waitress ever asked them what they wanted if they sat outside. Instead, the tiny tables and chairs were open to the public, to come and go as they pleased. They never ordered food anyway.

Choutarou overlooked Shishido easily, he knew. The boy smiled too easily, he forgot Shishido's paranoia and social retardation. It made him feel guilty, being the obvious worse of the two.

"Did you see Atobe's new serve?" Choutarou laughed. "Wicked! I have never seen anything like it!"

"Atobe's a fuckwad." Shishido mumbled.

He watched Choutarou's eyes widen for a moment, before he broke out into laughter. And it was wonderful. Time after time Shishido could not figure out how he could make the boy laugh, but the sound made him crack a grin.

"He's just going through a tough time." Choutarou snickered.

Shishido's grin turned into an awkward horse-like laugh. "No fucking way," He managed to get out. "He's trapped!"

They were a few moments of peace between them. It was rare that Choutarou laughed at the misfortunes of others, and Shishido found himself both intrigued and slightly turned on by it, the way the boy's eyebrows scrunched together and his lips pulled apart.

"You're my favorite person." Choutarou laughed.

Shishido stopped laughing. He looked at Choutarou, he looked at the dirt under the glass table, he looked at the smiling eyes and then glanced at the couple at the coffee shop across the street and realized in an instant, all the happiness went away.

"Choutarou, I'm afraid of your family."

**

* * *

**

"Oh my god Sakuno I _wish _you understood this! It is so great and I need to share it with you! Please, please, please, please!"

Sakuno Ryuzaki sighed into the phone. "Tomo…it's okay. You can tell me everything…I don't mind. You won't..."

"Spoil anything?"

"T-That's not what I—"

"No my love, I will have to tell you all the dirty details when you are ready."

She hung up.

Sakuno fell against her pillow, sighing again into the warmth. She took the opportunity to bash her head against the soft surface three more times before rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. As the numbers on her clock clicked eight, she sighed once again, rubbing her eyes roughly. "Don't start talking to yourself…" She warned.

There was a guilt to this unhappiness. It was enough to stop her in her tracks every time she saw a test grade, or could not find matching clothes, or decided that she was not hungry, or never canceled plans with her friends. Sakuno could not help but think, constantly, of everything that was worse for other people. Her image of the world was growing more and more distorted like crying over a painting. But tonight, something changed. Tomoka changed something in her and there was nothing she could do about it. Sakuno supposed the thought had always been there, ever since boys stopped having cooties and started having abs, but this was different. There was a wall between her and Tomoka now. A barrier she could not break down by herself. It was a forbidden land Tomoka had entered, and this time, Sakuno did not want to go there with her. She wanted to stick to classic Sakuno-guns, and hide on the other side, the safe side.

Tilting her head up, Sakuno looked quizzically at her legs. There was no getting around the fact that she was skinny. Probably too skinny, and under shaped. The clothes that were made for someone _like_ her were not made _for _her_._ And her constant self-image issues prevented any esteem from taking advantage of her body. She did not have to work hard for it. Sakuno was born this way. She never worked out, more so passed out. Now that she was pondering it, and thus falling into more self-loathing and uselessness, she realized her grades, which she did not work at either, were nothing to write home about. Without trying, she was average. Average was not bad, so she had decided to stay where she was, accepting what she was not, and simply moving forward. Not up, or down, just forward.

This way of life had been fine. Until she encountered the landmine that was Ryoma Echizen. He had blown her into smithereens of weakness and goo. She had started thinking about him all the time, she became engrossed with tennis, with boys, with dresses and suddenly her self-image was dragged out of the closet by Tomoka. The other girl had been careless and obnoxious about her feelings, but after the years went by, and high school came about, Tomoka had grown more decent, more logical, more grounded and firm in her feelings. Sakuno did not make the transition so easily. Her thoughts lingered on the simplest of things, the smallest of actions all had some kind of hidden meaning. She did not bother experimenting with other boys because she was convinced her true love would eventually find her. Ryoma would eventually come around to what everyone had assured her was an obvious _thing. _But by the time Tomoka had moved on, had acknowledged there were other boys equally special and unique, it was too late. The day Tomoka agreed to go out on a date with some boy Sakuno had never met was the same day she realized Ryoma was in love with someone else.

It had been a terrible combination of being out of two loops at the same time. On one hand, her best friend, her confidant, had not told her about a nice boy, from a school that did not even have a tennis team. Tomoka finally had broken out the secret, and apologized like it was all her fault. Sakuno met the boy the very next day only to find that he was surprisingly normal. He was polite, he was quirky and considerate, but when he really got into a conversation, he really got into it and spoke with strong eloquence and bursts of knowledge. It had occurred to Sakuno, why the boy enjoyed Tomoka far earlier than why Tomoka enjoyed him. Sakuno realized he was looking for an outlet, or a metaphorical megaphone. He could channel everything he was into Tomoka. She was liberating and confident and it spread to everyone that was not Sakuno. Tomoka had obviously been attracted to the boy before she met him. Her vocal issues obviously got his attention, and later she made him into her rock. For once she was not residing on the surface area, she was attached somehow.

Ryoma was a different story. There had been no apologizing, no warning. On the day they finished their second year of high school, the whole tennis club had gone out. The boys team, the lesser-known girls team, and Ryoma, forcibly. They all went to a park, Momoshiro and Kaidoh threw each other into a large fountain, for they were graduating for good. They were gone. Off to a university probably, off to a new chapter. And just as Momoshiro was lecturing Ryoma, the girl showed up, possibly unintentionally, but with an awesome presence that could turn heads. Sakuno never got her name, but it was something European, something unique. The girl had been strangely beautiful, Sakuno could remember it as though it were only a few days ago. She had a face unsymmetrical, a turned up nose and bushy eyebrows. She remembered the girl knew how to dress, she oozed composure and self-awareness so easily Sakuno did not dare hate her. But the expressive light in Ryoma's dark eyes was enough to make her stomach disappear. No one even made fun of him anymore, because no one was there.

Sakuno could no longer talk to Tomoka about her feelings for Ryoma. Not that night, nor the nights that followed, certainly, never after this one. Tomoka had abandoned her this time, and Sakuno would not chase after her. She would not allow herself to suffer such a rejection again. It would start with the barrier itself; she would never ever cross it. Sakuno bit her lip, "I am never, ever, going to have sex."

* * *

Dan Taichi checked his watch for the third time in the last two minutes: eight o' ten. He had been standing, shivering under a streetlamp for the last twenty-four minutes, and there was still no sign of his boyfriend. There was a slight drizzle, which Dan combated with an umbrella, but he had to admit how uncomfortable it was to sport wet shoes. He pulled himself from the large, man-sized ice container behind the convenient store, ignoring the ironic shadows as best he could. Nature was winning. "Hurry…hurry…" He muttered to himself, checking his watch again.

"Hey there good lookin'."

Dan jumped at the voice, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. "H-Hey…" There were an innumerable amount of sparks that spread through his body at the mere sight of Sengoku. It was not too hard to explain, the endorphins, the goosbumps, everything Dan felt was simply reasonable.

"Were you waiting long?" Sengoku asked. "Sorry, no one in that grocery store knows what kale is. There was a massive hold up, and, long story short, the world is full of angry people. It was not my luckiest day."

Shaking his head, Dan grinned. "You seem to not be having them recently. I am getting worried about your mental health."

Sengoku laughed, sending shivers down Dan's spine. "You worry that strenuous hours of manual labor will drive me to insanity?" He leaned close, placing his hand over Dan's, holding the umbrella tightly, eyes ablaze and brows raised.

"More like to boredom." Dan said under his breath.

It was not until Sengoku let go of his hand and stepped out from under the umbrella that Dan realized the rain had picked up. There were puddles now; he was standing in one. He watched the water pour down in the shadows of the street, and slowly saturate Sengoku's hair, and shirt.

"I'm not bored." Sengoku said, pushing orange hair out of his eyes and sighing. For apparent good measure, he added, "With anything." But then Dan watched him suffer a bout of self-consciousness. "Do I seem bored to you?"

"No." Dan lied. As hard as it was for him to lie, he felt it was not an actual lie this time. What guy would want to work at a convenient store before he could earn enough money to put himself through collage? It was painful for Dan to watch someone he loved wait and wait for something that may never come. He knew that Sengoku was torn between tennis and boxing, he knew Sengoku's family tried their hardest to lend him money, and he knew Sengoku would never complain about any of it. But he feared it would be so easy for Sengoku to just give up the dream of collage and just keep going on the way he was going on.

Dan was brought back to reality when he felt a pressure against his shoulder. He suddenly let out a gasp as his back hit the sturdy ice container. Sengoku paused for a moment, letting a smirk cross his face as Dan tried to roll his eyes. "I'm not bored." He insisted. Before Dan could refute, Sengoku had already started sucking on his neck and fumbling with his hip bone.

Trying to breathe normally, Dan swallowed. "Y-You can't tell me that you'd…rather…Ow."

It was not rare, that Dan found himself pressed up against something, hanging like a rag-doll while Sengoku ate his collar bone. He was not unaccustomed to the blood pumping downwards and his fingernails aching, and he certainly was no stranger to getting caught. But this time it was raining. This time there was an added friction, an added sensitivity when he reached under Sengoku's shirt to feel deliciously firm muscle. Every shove, every groan, Dan knew. He knew Sengoku's elbows, his wrists, his chin so well, and when he traced his fingers over them, it was like trespassing on his own territory, again and again.

"What," Sengoku asked, dragging his tongue across Dan's neck, "would I rather be doing, at this moment, than this?"

He pushed Dan's metal belt into his skin, and the boy jumped. Cold and very, very hot at the same time, Dan gulped again. He felt dizzy and slow, but he did not object to Sengoku sticking his hand down his pants. Dan waited. He breathed in Sengoku's hair, feeling the orange strands against his lips as he tried to knock his knees against each other.

Dan dug his fingers into Sengoku's shoulder blades, moaning, "I'm going to get a job…"

* * *

"I have found him to be quite a horrible person. One would think that after being defeated in such an ungracious manner, he would simply choose to accept the fact that I am the better player, and at least make some sort of effort to welcome any equal ground I choose to give him. But of course, there is no way he would do that. Oh no, Sanada is too proud a person for that. No, no he must simply frown at me, as if that is any indication of admiration or sheer loathing, because I honestly cannot tell. And it's not as though I can't see he would rather be off bedding Yukimura. But no, he has the audacity to accept my challenge and then half-ass it. What a joke," Keigo Atobe fumed into the phone. "He obviously has no idea who I am…are you still there?"

"No."

Atobe snorted. "Good to know. I appreciate those who don't tolerate me."

"Don't I know it."

Leaning back in his chair, Atobe rolled his eyes. "Since you obviously don't want to know about me, what else would you like me to tell you about Japan? You are missing some quite insightful things, I must say…"

"I'd ask how your parents are, but I really don't care."

"I didn't think so. But I will let you know when my father is a step closer to being euthanized," Atobe laughed.

There was silence for a moment, in which Atobe stole a glance at the painting of his family that hung on the wall directly before his father's desk. Atobe did not remember having to stand still for it, so he simply glared.

"Are you two still fighting?"

"I wouldn't call it a fight, per say. More like, a simple disagreement."

"I don't want to talk about your father. Tell me about the rest of your team. Do you still see them? I miss Gakuto. There is a special place in my heart for him."

If Atobe laughed three times in one day, he considered it a good one. And late at night was the best part of most of his days, when the time zones aligned as much as they ever would. "I go to a much higher-priced university than they do. I see them rarely. Although Yuushi and I keep in contact via email and such. Ah—but I did see Choutarou's violin recital about a week ago. He is surprisingly good. I had hoped to meet his parents finally, but no such luck. He inquired about you."

"Is he still with Shishido?"

"Yes."

"Shishido's a fuckwad."

Atobe chuckled, resting the phone comfortably on his shoulder as he casually opened a thin drawer to his left. There was a long silence during which he dug through neatly stacked papers, skimming over tabs and titles. "Anyone else?" He knew there would not be a question about Jirou, but there was a curiosity he tried his best to ignore. "Surely you want to know more about what life in Japan is like. How does it compare to America?"

"America fucking sucks. Your English has gotten much better, I must say."

"Yes. Yes it does. And yes, yes it has."

"I thought…I thought about coming back, you know."

Atobe slammed the drawer shut.

"But, you know I have more important things to do. You know, I met this really sweet guy at a bar the other night. He had awesome hair and bought me a drink or two. I think we really hit it off…Must be like fate...or something."

"And then you smiled at him and he saw your unfortunate teeth…am I right?"

"Fuck you. I'm hot."

"Whatever you say." Atobe muttered. He stretched his legs across his father's desk lazily. "I can pay to have them fixed, you know."

There was a sigh on the other line, and Atobe mentally smacked himself.

"I don't want your money." The girl spat.

Atobe groaned, tapping his father's glass lamp with his foot. She was so contradictory, this girl. At almost every opportunity, she would take a dig at his money—joking about his future and her own valuable affection. But the moment he offered the money she recoiled, as if the game were over and she was left to clean up the pieces. As if every human did not have the right to proper dentistry. Every venomous syllable he knew, inside and out, she knew exactly what she meant when she did and when she did not say it. It was the words themselves that had him baffled. The constant onslaught of sarcasm and lust and cool pride balanced together in some tedious structure: far from scrawny, and topped with trashy blonde hair and truly unfair teeth.

"Don't tell me you've hung up already." She laughed. "You're the only thing I'm doing for the next hour so start talking. I'm sure you have lots to talk about. I bet your fancy, over-priced collage is keeping you busy."

"I just got back today actually. I'll be here for the next twelve days. It's a bit too shallow for my taste, but it was my father's choice. Granted, it's full of whiny rick kids who've never worked a day in their lives. Quite pathetic to watch, actually. Their tennis team is shabby. It will require a lot of work. Obviously I am up to the task."Atobe snatched a piece of paper from the desk, glanced over the time slots, and then began folding it.

"Sounds perfect for your father. I'd inquire as to why you took your father's advice on this one…but I know how you like to be the center of attention—you're the brightest star in the sky."

"As it should be."

Atobe hurled the paper airplane at the painting of his family. Naturally, it hit his mother, square in the chest.

"Keigo…" She began, "if I came to—"

"Don't even think about it. Your Japanese is horrible." Atobe watched his mother's painted eyes shine with disapproval. "You'd get lost, and probably be mistaken for some kind of hooker and end up dead in the sewers because of some man who was dissatisfied with your brick dance. And then I would have to send investigators out looking for you. They would scour the city, fending off drug dealers and corruption scandals and eventually, find nothing. I would come to give up on you, torn apart with guilt and forced to continue my first year of collage with your death on my shoulders. It's only until I am later engaged, that I drop the ring down a storm drain because some idiot on a bicycle runs into me—not because I am clumsy. I send someone in after it—because seriously, those need to be cleaned—and we discover your body, cold and lifeless. I identify the body, my life forever changed. And it all starts with today. Today I ask you not to come to Japan, I save your life."

He was met with silence. Golden for a moment, before Atobe sighed. The weight of his mother's eyes was heavy, almost as heavy as his father's cold black expectations. As bulky and powerful as his father's suit was the silence; it burned his ears and numbed his lips. There was no way he could bring the girl to Japan. There was no way he could continue down his collage road, quickly and smoothly and without looking back to make sure she was not chasing him down with a large truck. He had tried to meet his future head on, he had tried to beat everything under his belt, cram it onto his resume, yet keep intact every relationship and every useful acquaintance worth something. There was no way he could bring her here, into this world of high society, she could not thrive here. She could not be happy here. Her year abroad at Rikkaidai had already introduced her to rigid rules and the cast system that was his life.

"What the fu—"

"I love you." He said. And then he hung up.


	2. The Pits

**Chapter two! Sorry for the wait. This one is considerably longer, as I am still trying to fully comprehend the structure of this story. Well, that's pretty much all the introduction I have. Leave a review if you have time. Enjoy. **

* * *

**Lucky Ones

* * *

**The Pits

* * *

Yuushi Oshitari padded down his neck and forehead, grinning coolly at Kenya. It gave him an outward pleasure to know he was still the stronger tennis player of the two. Not that the blonde was a bad player, he had dexterity and calmness and incorporated his uncommon sense of humor into every match, but had difficulty thinking his moves through. The innate ability to plan ahead was something the Oshitari family line prided itself in. And in that aspect, Kenya considered himself somewhat of a burden.

"Nice serve." Kenya grinned.

Oshitari nodded expectantly, peeling off his glasses and cleaning the lenses on his shirt. "You've gotten faster."

"Shiraishi made us use weights," Kenya shrugged. "You shoulda' see our rookie—never even phased him. Crazy…"

The two of them made their way back to Oshitari's house for the rest of the morning. The lawn bore the potential for a splendid family reunion, with light wood tables and lacelike tablecloths, situated under elegant umbrellas and a sun that promised a clear, blue day, but only after the dimness of the morning faded into the clouds. The young men fell onto the tables, resting in the gentle shade and sipping from sour, plastic water bottles. Oshitari felt the awkward silence in this spine; it was his mother's coercion that had led him here in the first place. She was the one that through prodding fingers and harsh eyebrows had compelled him to play a game with his cousin. The two of them were not particularly close, and they had occasionally found similar interests in one another, until conversations turned more mature, and everything they learned about each other over the years had become useless.

"How's the university life?" Kenya asked, absentmindedly.

"Stellar." Oshitari sighed. "The campus is nice, though it isn't Hyotei." He scratched the back of his head in an effort to convey a sense of hopelessness, but Kenya still stared intently. "It was all in my recommendation letter, really. Sakaki is very persuasive, he may not look it, but the man has only nice things to say about everyone."

Cocking his head to the side slightly, Kenya drew his eyebrows together, "Is that a joke?"

In response, Oshitari hung his head. "Not really," All brittle attempts at humor gone. He stared intently into the grass, still wet with dew. "How's your university life?" It was a stupid question, Oshitari knew, but he felt awkwardly obligated to ask it.

Without missing a beat, Kenya smiled rather darkly, "It's cool," he said. Oshitari sensed a childish play for attention in the unmistakable downward turn of the young man's lips. "It's hard work. My roommate and I are up until, like, three some nights. Crazy." Although no sympathy passed through Oshitari's eyes, he assumed Kenya would be content to vent out his sorrows, and the two of them could go back inside and talk to people that were not each other. But one look at Kenya's embarrassingly expressive eyes said that he was not done yet. Out of selfless duty, he stared hard into Oshitari's eyes. "How is your boyfriend?"

There it was. Oshitari groaned, suddenly feeling the uncomfortable stiffness of the table under him, and all the delicates of the lawn seemed to grow cheap and trashy. The sweat on his face felt warm and sticky again, and one look at the empty water bottle told him it was going to be a long conversation. "It's really not a thing…" He mumbled. "I don't know how the news spread to your little temple school in the first place, but it's still nothing serious. Sorry to disappoint you."

"It's cool." Kenya said. "I think I might be gay too."

"That's not what I—"

"To each their own."

Oshitari glared, hard and angrily. The more time he spent with his cousin, the more he realized he did not like him. Something about his lack of boundaries and self-consciousness and spotlight effect irked him to almost no end.

"Can I ask you a few things?"

"I'd rather you did not, actually."

"When did you first realize it?" Kenya asked, his eyes full of something a bit more sinister and uncoordinated to be determination. "That, you know, you were attracted to men?"

"That is none of your business." Oshitari spat. "I'm going inside." He stood up, and in two strides passed over the grim look on his cousin's face. The failed connection he could not argue the two of them had seemed to hang in the air as he paused to feel the grass licking at his heels. It occurred to Oshitari that this might be an important moment, or at least something he might regret running away from, an hour or so into the future when he was standing before a warm oven, peering in at golden-brown crusts. "Fine." He turned around, shuffling back to the table, and falling upon it in defeat.

The slightly amused and amazed look on Kenya's tierd face did nothing to encourage him. Oshitari pulled his own forces together, sighing once again, before plunging head-first into a story he had never told anyone, set up upon sheer confusion and guess-and-check, with no real purpose or fulfillment at the end of it.

"Atobe made me go stall for time with his girlfriend while he cleaned his house." It flooded out like a repressed dream, horrific and vengeful. "At school…while we waited for a taxi that never came. Forty-two minutes." Kenya did not say a word as Oshitari continued, "She's so...perfect it makes me want to punch her. 'Perfect' meant not in the manner of 'perfection' or 'completeness' but in the sense that there is nothing that could ever change her. She's rude and impulsive and a liar. Her teeth are awful and she reeks of sex and ham. And all the while she never once mentioned Atobe. God knows she talked about anything else. From smoking to baseball hat logos to her aunt's weird fingers. And all the while I kept waiting for Atobe to call, or for that stupid taxi to arrive. But neither of them did! Atobe told me his phone had died. But he has more than one phone, you know. _So many phones._ And I had to take it. Forty-two minutes with Atobe's girlfriend. I swear, she functions on a totally different plane than you and I. There is nothing thoughtful or perceptive about that crazy bitch."

"Do you love her?" Kenya asked, almost absent-mindedly.

"No." Oshitari said, as though it should have been obvious. "She bit a rabbit in the face at the age of eight. I do not love her, by any means. If nothing," He started, slowing down considerably, "I realized how much I prefer Atobe."

"Do you love Atobe? Isn't he like, your best friend?" Kenya asked, this time, with a firm epiphany in his eyes.

* * *

When Ann Tachibana woke up in the morning, she really woke up. Despite her best efforts, she was a morning person. She could not lie in her bed all day without getting bored, for responsibilities tugged her awake in the earliest of hours. This morning was no exception. Having no where she really needed to be, Ann hauled herself out of bed at eight, and was dressed and showered thirty-five minutes later. Today's dress, she noted, looking in the full-length mirror with an unfortunate crack that landed around the chest area, appeared somewhere between _I'm desperate for a job _and _The three more options mean nothing if I get this one_.

She sighed; professional dress was not her style. The collar, the nylons, and heels were all foreign entities to her; they seemed to rally against her and force a consistent frown upon her face. She felt trapped and frustrated, knowing all it would take to get a job is would be for her to rip open the fancy dress shirt turn her heels into weapons.

Relentlessly dissatisfied with her life, Ann trudged down the stairs, nodded at her mother who turned towards her with quizzical eyebrows and a firm jaw. "Today's the day." Ann said, softer and more defensive than she had intended. But her mother sighed and turned back to fumbling through the phone book without responding.

Her house was not big, by any means. A simple structure filled with childhood memories that belonged in a yard sale, dust from pets they did not have, and tennis magazines. Ann preferred to think of it as a home away from home, where her friends would not come to visit, where she would not eat meal after meal with her mother all the while staring longingly at the empty seat that was reserved for her brother. It would not be a stretch to say that Ann hated her house, but the thought of leaving her mother all alone was something she could not deal with, mentally. It was like a barrier her brother had long surpassed before her, some hurdle every child should face when growing up, the act of leaving the nest. But as she watched her mother acknowledge fading eyesight, and glance around worriedly for her glasses, Ann felt she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into her bed and wait for her mother to wake her up with promises of food.

Her feet already ached, as Ann made her way to the door, shouting a goodbye to her mother before pushing it open and breathing in air that should have smelled like opportunity, but in actuality, smelled like gasoline. She closed the door behind her and gradually made her way down the steps, bearing in mind the judgmental crack that nearly split them in half.

By subway, she made her way into the city easily. She recognized buildings, and parks, but did not pull the ear buds from her ears as these were not her stops. She looked blankly from the blurry images of other people to the enigmatic stain on the seat next to her. She shrugged into the opposite direction and focused on the muddy shoes of a boy leaning against the door.

It only took a second. Her eyes wandered up his legs, briefly staying at his hips before crawling up his torso. She was not expecting his narrow face with sharp features, she was not expecting his messy black hair, and more so, she was not expecting, at all, his green eyes to be turned towards her. She knew him. She knew all about him. She had planned this moment, actually, since the day he put her brother in the hospital. She had planned how she was going to fight him, how her words would cut like a blade and how his fortress of brutality would crumble before her. But several brief, unfaltering encounters had prevented such an onslaught from occurring. And now was not the time for it either.

Ann felt panic. She felt her stomach tumble and the music blast impossibly loudly into her ears, drowning out the static of everyone around her.

When the subway rolled to a halt, she wondered, for a moment, if he was going to approach her. Gulping down air, Ann rose from her seat; she hurriedly stumbled towards the open doors that lead away from the boy. Although she could clearly see he was not a mere child anymore, Ann still felt the same bullying fear in her chest. She still felt goose bumps and shivers at the mere sight of him. She pushed past an older man, out the doors and onto the platform.

She stood there, dumbly, for a few moments, letting people juggle her as they fought through the subway's doors. She felt the stuffy heat fill her lungs, and welcomed the smell of sweaty hotdogs. Ann thought she would probably eat one, or four, once she reached the surface. She would eat her feelings and then maybe cry them out in public, if she was up for it.

Until, that is, she looked at her watch. She would be late. "Crap…crap…crap…" Ann looked around, not quite sure where she even was. She had never used this station before, and one look at the homeless man on a bench eating salad out of a shoebox told her she needed to leave. But something cruel inside her chided that this might be where she belonged, actually.

And as she watched dumbly, the subway pulled out. Ann almost choked on the heat, looking around for the stairs that would hopefully lead her into the sunlight. Despite the crowd of people, she could easily make out the stairs far in the back of the station. Ann breathed a sigh of relief and began making her way through the crowd. Finally she caught the railing, and pulled herself up the steps. Gasping in the air, Ann reached the surface, breathing too hard and leaning against the sticky metal. She was embarrassingly out of shape, and more than willing to shove down a few hotdogs.

Practically falling onto a metal bench, Ann silently cursed her relationship with the simple structures. She thought about how much she was sweating now, and how she would miss her interview; about whether it was Akaya Kirihara that made her nauseous, or the image of the old man and his shoebox salad.

Ann sighed and looked around. She saw mammoth buildings, graffiti, business suits, and short skirts. It was as though this train station was right on the border of the white collar and blue collar sales racks. There was an overwhelming contrast between the people walking together. She did not think she was too lost, only that she needed to check a subway map to regain her bearings and composure. She would go to her other interviews, skipping the first entirely, as it was starting in ten minutes. She would forget about that door, and move on.

But just as she had come to terms with that thought, the moment she was about to stand up and continue on her job hunt, she felt the force of a person leaning against the back of the bench. Exasperated, she bashed her head against her knees.

"You're dangerous." Kirihara said.

Ann did not even have the strength to stand up, so she just sat there, hunched over her legs, bending her back uncomfortably. "My interview…" She groaned, admitting defeat, "I missed it. My life is over. Goodbye Momoshiro. Hello shoebox salads."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's over. The interview is over. Why were you on that subway?" Ann sighed, making a painful sound in the back of her throat. "Why can't you just stay out of my life?" It did not really come out as a question, more like a breathy philosophy. "If you hadn't hurt my brother, he would never have gone to the hospital—we would never have spent all that money and I could have gone to a university and asked Momoshiro out. But _no_."

She felt drunk. The contrast of fresh air combined with the dankness of the subway station made her light-headed and shaky. Ann did not bother to straighten her back, or look at the boy behind her, or apologize to the people who might be staring at her. Shivering and sweating at the same time, Ann kicked off her heels and clung to her knees desperately.

After about two minutes of silence, Ann sat up and looked around. Through watery eyes, she saw the buildings, and graffiti, and business suits and short skirts. No Kirihara. For a moment, she felt a surge of a costly victory, but then she turned to her left, and noticed a map of the subway system lying dangerously close to her.

**

* * *

**

There was nothing in the room that had Kunimitsu Tezuka's attention more than his pearly white countertop. It was elegantly rounded, speckled with grains of brown and gray, smooth and cheaply heavy, ideal for a dorm room. And what a dorm room it is. Floor vacant of personal clutter and walls stripped of prose. Tezuka tried his best to remain innately focused on things in the simple room, simple things that held translucent meanings. He could get away with pretending to be distracted by the color of his counter, or anything that he did not particularly like. Tezuka was not one to admit he liked anything.

"You think you're being unreasonable," Fuji said.

"You are nothing _but _unreasonable." Tezuka murmured into his shoulder. He refused to make eye contact with the young man casually leaning against the other side of his counter, whose blue eyes he knew were full with poorly hidden mockery and alarming realism; both of which Tezuka refused to acknowledge.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tezuka saw Fuji rest his thin wrist on the counter, and begin tapping his fingers against it, casually. "Don't you think your analytical side is getting the better of you? You are obviously overlooking my involvement, and you should be very, very aware of how that affects me. Honestly, I am a little offended you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Sighing, Tezuka brought his head up to propel his words better, "And you apparently have more involvement than you would care to tell. Tell me, where is _your _analytical side?"

"I don't have an analytical side. I have an irrational side, and a selfish side. Also a coquettish side, but that is neither here nor there."

At that moment, Tezuka was not sure whether he wanted to beat his boyfriend's teeth out, or suck his face clean off. Either way, he groaned in defeat. "This is useless."

"And embarrassing," Fuji added.

Tezuka glared for a moment before flopping down in a chair. Still staring at Fuji from across the white island, he could not think of many words to say to redeem himself from this awful state of something a step behind unfaithfulness. It made matters worse that Fuji was completely fine with it. As though Tezuka's confusion and inexperience was some game a human played with a dog. Fuji's blatant openness caused him nothing but red cheeks and awkward fumbling. His voice was growing weaker, day after day, as his need to use it was thinning remarkably. With Fuji there to read his mind, and extend a hand in more ways than one, Tezuka found himself locked in a state of unbridled routines. Confusing but still desirably manageable. Until, that is, this incident happened.

"Surely you don't think I'm tormented?" Fuji asked with laughter in his voice. "Tennis surely consumes my world more than people. Do you know a thing about psychology?"

"Not really." Tezuka said flatly, remembering a counselor who suggested he take that class, to which he suggested, _No._

"I could have guessed. Then you would know that it is perfectly normal to be attracted to other people. The chemicals in your brain don't jiggle for just me, you know."

"Please refrain—"

"And I understand, completely," Fuji shrugged. "I don't insist you go around trying to sleep with Atobe, but it wouldn't kill either of us if you made out with him."

"Fuji!"

"Although…I don't think he rides our train."

Tezuka hit his forehead against the countertop, with disregard for his glasses. It was only Fuji who could be so open about his personal life. He heard time and time again from countless people about finding the one person who really, truly knew him. And Fuji was it. He thought back desperately through all the years prior: the first time he saw Fuji take his shirt off, his injury, the third time he beat Fuji in a match, the first time he noticed Fuji watching him eat an apple, and especially the first time he watched Fuji bend over to tie his shoe. All those fleeting moments obviously proved, on a deeper level, that Fuji was the only person he truly loved.

Bound mostly by hormones and teenage grandeur, Tezuka never did anything. It was not until graduation night that Fuji simply asked, _Do you wanna go make out? _There was something strange and unique about Fuji's radical honestly, it drew Tezuka in, one who took pride in brutally inspiring fear and awe with flat-out fact. Somehow, people reacted differently. Girls still fell at both their feet, as if they all really enjoyed being told they were trying too hard. But Tezuka realized, gradually, that people flocked to him for guidance and liked nothing more to bask in his shadow, as if he had all the life experience in the world. While Fuji grew to be loved, and valued as some kind of trophy everyone wanted to possess. Inui had once mentioned that people wanted Tezuka's approval more than Fuji's, but when it came to love, Fuji had him beat. He easily accepted this, without a second thought, and over the years, there had been no problems.

Tezuka's life with Fuji was interesting, to say the least. He was never bored with conversation, never alone or lonely. But then, four days ago, he saw Atobe. The strangest thing happened that day, the unabated shiver, the yearning to be seen, to be desired by him once again but in a different way struck Tezuka hard. Almost as hard as the guilt. He spoke to Atobe, in not so many words, with no eloquence or sarcasm, and Atobe talked back, pretending to be glad to be taking a few days off from his university. He was as egotistical as ever, cool and sharp. And Tezuka found their conversation to be not quite enough; even after Atobe invited him over to his mansion for a match, Tezuka found he was more than willing to lay in Atobe's glow. It was bizarre, he began walking around in a daze, trying to perform mundane tasks and plotting ways to make himself more interesting.

Fuji had thought it was hilarious. He was unthreatened, unstoppable, and naturally, uncensored in his attempts to get Tezuka to admit he was attracted to Atobe. Because, he remarked in the same manner one would use while folding laundry, _Who isn't?_

Tezuka huffed to himself, feeling awfully misunderstood and poorly represented. He could not form safe, secure words and convey them to Fuji in a way that reflected his true feelings; suffering from a tied tongue was no joke. He could have insisted that he was in love with Fuji. He could have made up some lie Atobe might have told him. There were many phrases that Tezuka could have said that would have, in his own clouded mind, made amends. But instead he sighed, "Atobe's not gay. I have met his girlfriend. There is nothing. It's not important." He watched Fuji pick himself up off the counter and open up the small refrigerator and fish around for a bottle of seltzer water.

"I remember meeting her." Fuji said slowly. He straightened up and smiled with almost the same amount of bubbles that were gathering around the surface of the bottle that his elegant fingers twisted open. "At that one party. She has bear-teeth."

"I assume she was born that way." Tezuka allowed himself a bit of jealousy. "American intellect with a fondness for saturated fat."

Fuji cracked a grin, pure and honest; he managed to pack into a single moment everything he was. That single, realistic awareness was everything Tezuka needed, and he watched the young man spin the plastic cap tightly before raising his eyebrows, "Your life is not that hard."

**

* * *

**

Masaharu Niou stared blankly at the ground. At this moment, there was nothing more he would not want to be staring at. While the commotion he was not allowed to interfere with exploded around him, Niou calmly stared at the brown-powder dirt and would have considered kicking a rock if his feet were not anchored to the ground with responsibility and his debilitating awkwardness. He could rush to Yukimura's defense, he could put a stop to muddling confusion and save the girl a few tears, maybe, but his right to exercise his power of obliviousness was too great. He was too engrossed in his own victory to tell the truth himself, or butt in. So instead of behaving reasonably, he acted like a selfish little child and silently gloated.

The girl said a wide variety of things to Yukimura. Aside from an admirable and uncoordinated speech about doughnuts, she spoke eloquently and easily, confident and straight-forward as her shoulder blades rose with her voice. After Niou stole a quick glance, he realized she rather average. Probably the type who had never denied anything she really wanted, and later developed a tendency to confused those things she truly did and did not want, making it all the more hard to accept rejection. Niou told himself that the girl was probably a bad person, and that Yukimura was not the best thing to have almost happened to her; he brought his mind dangerously close to what simple actions the girl could have misinterpreted. He wondered what tender words broke down walls of thick stone, what humanistic ideals melted slick ice and chipped away at any chalky shell before the girl finally reached out herself and let Yukimura wash over her like a warm, fresh breeze.

Niou had given them their privacy. He stood to the side, not bothering to pretend that he could not hear; simply standing in full acknowledgement and outer calm. He knew it was not wrong for the girl to get louder as Yukimura stayed the same polite, all-around volume. Niou had seen Yukimura in these positions before. He knew plenty of girls that were head-over-heels for him and even more who finally got around to making it known. He knew the way Yukimura's face flashed with genuine disbelief and flattery, and then regret, it was a cycle. Disbelief, because Niou knew that Yukimura held himself in low regard, he knew that he did not, and had not ever placed himself above anyone, and never would. Flattery, because Yukimura was constantly learning how _okay _it was for people to freely admit "I love you" or "I like you" or the million phrases in between, and that it was okay to accept them, but not fulfill them. Regret, because honestly and not-so-openly, Yukimura did not love. But beyond that, Yukimura was too strong to support only two people, too caught up in protection and fostering that it ruined him romantically. As someone who was shared by everyone, who gave a piece of himself to anyone who asked, Yukimura was incapable of loving one person more than he cared for everyone.

This girl could not understand. As Niou watched, he felt the carnal need to defend Yukimura, to force upon the girl simple logic she should know, things she would know, if she knew Yukimura like he did. But he knew he could not. He heard Yukimura murmur an "Alright," before the girl took a step back, as if to calm herself, mentally.

Her open mouth swept across her face like a tornado, and Niou saw something strange. Something novel in the way her eyes shown, and the way her eyebrows pulled together playfully. "I'm not giving up!" She said too enthusiastically, obviously under the impression no one had told Yukimura that before. But Niou knew that his old captain was glad, casually used to this kind of blind ambition, wistful smiles and prodding fingers. Every regular at Rikkaidai had come to know how Yukimura worked; this sickly, untrusting self was not a façade, or an act to remain superior. But even more surprising than the disturbing familiarity of the girl's face and shrill, unfiltered voice was the bizarre shine in Yukimura's eyes.

Niou turned away again, shutting his old captain and the girl out of his mind, turning it back on himself. He could never go very long without thinking about how the world affected him, or how he affected the world. It was almost out of pride and confidence, but more so out of the spotlight effect. He could not stand for a person to receive heaps of attention when they do not deserve it. So when he called up Yukimura and Yanagi, he was outraged to have run into this girl, this distraction Yukimura so openly welcomed. He checked his watch and thought about simply walking away, but it seemed that for whatever reason, the girl had decided she was done trying to convince Yukimura that she was "not like the rest" for the day. She waved, cheerful and armored before turning on her heels and walking down the street.

"Do you remember her?" Yukimura asked, quickly before Niou could spit a complaint through his teeth.

"You'd think I'd remember that voice…" Niou muttered, defused by Yukimura's smile, free of judgment or any other human quality. "Someone needs to rip out that girl's voice box."

"You're charming."

Nothing Yukimura ever said was an insult, in the same way it never a compliment. Niou had given up trying to analyze it, and had grown accustomed to snickering or flipping Marui off when the redhead made a comment about his lack of people skills. He saw Yukimura's raised eyebrow at the jagged frown on his face and sighed heavily. "Where's Renji?" He asked, pulling his eyes away from all-fathoming complexity. "He should be here by now…"

"Before you called me," Yukimura began slowly and gently, as if he was figuratively moving around some cornered animal, trying to coax it into submission, "I saw I had a message on my phone from Yagyuu." He paused, and Niou felt his stomach disappear. "My phone was shut off, so I did not talk to him. I just listened to him talk about himself."

"Fuck." Niou kicked the sidewalk, and swore up at the colossal dorm that towered above both of them. He had intended to lead Yukimura away from the scene of the crime, but his body clung tightly to his room. There were traces of food everywhere, unwashed sheets, and dust clumps. He took little heed to the post-it notes on his door, or the emails his teachers sent, or the stains on his windows where birds kept flying into them. "Fucker."

"You'll be pleased to know he never mentioned you."

"How do you figure?" Niou knew Yukimura did not take responsibility for the threat in his voice, but he still felt guilty for the way the words tumbled out. His aggressive stance did nothing to dissuade Yukimura's cold voice, heavy with realism and void of tact and sympathy.

"He is not one to shine the spotlight on himself. Yagyuu never talks about himself. You know."

Niou did know. He knew everything about his doubles partner. He knew him inside and out. He knew about the way he left the bar of soap on a sponge, the way he brushed his teeth with his left hand, the way he had an affinity for honey-glazed ham, the way he blew his nose without making any noise. Niou cold recall the exact path Yagyuu drew every morning, every moment was routine, every pause, and observation was part of a system of interconnecting, coexisting stimuli he felt. This was how Yagyuu had interacted with the world; it was the neat, orderly, systematic lifestyle Niou wanted to crush. Their defining differences were what drew Niou to Yagyuu in the first place; it was another case of opposites attracting.

"I know." Niou sighed, accepting his defeat. He was not, after all, the only one who knew Yagyuu. He was not the only one who loved to play tennis with him, he was not the only one who had shared a water bottle with him, and he was not the only one who had tried on his glasses or put chocolates in his locker under the name of a "compatible" girl.

"Did you intend to ask for our advice?" Yukimura asked, reaching the wall that slinked around the university in a few simple strides before he leaned against it; Niou almost flinched at the sound his old captain's head made when it landed against the brick. "Did you think Renji would offer favorable odds?" Yukimura seemed to let the pain envelope him before closing his eyes to Niou. "Do you not trust your own judgment? Because I will give you an answer you do not want to hear."

It did not take Niou long to find a response he knew would made Yukimura's insides crawl. He went on the offensive again, thinking about the girl and where he had seen her before. He curled his lips like a newspaper set aflame, and gloated briefly, for his unique insight into his old captain, fully intent on showering him with guilt.

"I trust you," He said.

* * *

Yuuta Fuji had been told on multiple occasions that he was in his head too much. Sometimes, it came in an annoyed tone, from his teachers; or from the pretty girl in his English class, endearingly; sometimes it came from his brother, fragile and tentative; but he _felt _it significantly more than he heard it. He could physically feel himself drifting away from reality, watch the world slide back and let his imagination paint vocals and feel bodies against him. Yuuta blamed his dyslexia for his lack of special reasoning: his disbelief in the metaphorical universe. He did not think of himself as interesting, his childhood, crippling and shaping, had taught him to never think so highly of himself had ruined any sense of an internal locus of control. Now that he took time to step back and think about it, _control _is what brought him here.

Outside this moment, his head was raging. Far away from the moment, Yuuta found himself doing other, practically, self-fulfilling things.

Inside this moment, far from where Yuuta dared to go, Mizuki gave up, pulling his lips away from the neck sucked raw. "Never mind," He mumbled indignantly.

It crashed. The verbal lashing broke through Yuuta's wanderings and threw him back into his own body, wedged awkwardly between the bench and the locker room wall. He tried to apologize, or something. But Mizuki seemed thoroughly disappointed and discarded this time, indignantly stretching off the bench and adjusting his tie.

"Yuuta, this is embarrassing." He hissed, running thin fingers through his black hair, as if that was where all the damage raged. "I'm not into chasing someone who isn't willing to be caught."

"Sorry!" Yuuta insisted, bending up and finding his legs once again. "I'm just really tired. My brother wouldn't get off the phone last night…" Trying to convey his warped sense of daydreaming was very, very difficult to do. The articulations jumbled and hand gestures were only a dead end, said Mizuki's eyebrows. "I can't focus on anything."

Mizuki sighed. "Well I didn't come all the way back here, from my lovely studies because I wanted to focus on anything. You're not supposed to put all your focus into it. You're doing it wrong."

Yuuta groaned. "Fine. Go back to your university. I don't really care. I have stuff to do."

There was a silence that Yuuta did not feel comfortable taking credit for, nor did he feel obligated to end it. He knew the deep down, somewhere in the black hole that was Mizuki's soul, there were some feelings for him, twisted as they may be. The older of the two stated sharply time after time that he might never come back, or that he was only doing it to get back at Yuuta's brother, but there was genuine interest, or at least, at first. But Yuuta never failed to ruin it. He simply could not get his mind around Mizuki enough to get a firm hold and push away his thoughts. The space between them had grown considerably since they graduated and went their separate ways. Mizuki talked too eloquently about his future, how he expected to do great things, and for what was probably the first time, on Yuuta's graduation day, he cracked open and almost asked Yuuta to follow him. But Yuuta never applied.

"This is not a relationship." Mizuki said firmly. "I don't do that."

"I know," Yuuta told the floor. He knew about Mizuki's control issues, the cold, manipulative shoulder he could not care less about had hurt a lot of people. He knew Mizuki was not a fan of give-and-take, not so much the system, but he would prefer to control the force exerted, to direct the flow of just how much he had to give. Yuuta on the other hand, had gone from one polar to the other, wanting nothing more than to mar his own brother, before joining the Saint Rudolph tennis team. He had grown into, for the first time wanting other people to win. To smile at a serve that was not his own was something friendly and warm and the adrenaline rush became the only thing he would never give away. "I just…know."

Raising his hands for a moment, Mizuki looked at him with a fierce anticipation, but when he saw the emptiness of Yuuta's gray eyes, he lowered his hands, sighing. "I don't get anything from you," He said.

Yuuta looked up at him before the truth hit him hard. He felt his own solitude creeping in and the nervousness encroaching under his skin. The thoughts shuddered against his skull, it was his own fault. If Mizuki never came back, it would be his own fault. His own insecurity that halted any new kind of stimulation his family might find unattractive. This comfort zone was small, itchy and nauseating. "I don't really know what I want, so I'm sorry." He said dumbly. "I'm fine with this not being a relationship, but you like it that way right?" He took a step forward, pushing against the oxygen barrier. "You like that there is nothing you could possibly take from me?" He was winning. Yuuta was beating Mizuki at his own game. He could see it in the other's stunned eyes. He knew Mizuki far better than anyone else. He knew about his vast display of imperfections, about the stolen glances in the sunlight cover, about the spinning racket against his wrist that only looked painful, about his sister running away after staining his porcelain world with her exhausted jaws.

He took another step forward, so he was only about five inches from Mizuki's ski-jump nose. Feeling the power in his voice box and rigid shoulders, Yuuta dove, grabbing Mizuki's teeth with his lips, digging his bitten-down fingernails into that crisp shirt and silky tie. He tore through him.

It only took three seconds before Mizuki tore back. Rampant against his skin, against the inside of his cheek, Yuuta pushed forward as Mizuki pushed back, and for a moment they wobbled, teetering on fine heels before Yuuta spun and shoved Mizuki hard against the wall. Groaning, the young man slid down, and Yuuta knocked against his knees. Never before had he felt so grounded and in control, while letting his body move before his brain told him what was happening. Not when playing tennis did he so abandon thinking ahead. Their centers of gravity seemed to align, as Mizuki brought Yuuta's chin hard against his eye, tearing through the buttons and ripping at his belt with pent-up frustration.

Feeling himself falling forward, Yuuta wondered whether or not to smile. He felt himself shudder, knowing suddenly exactly how he felt, exactly how the bumps along his arms spread, how the heat in his face spread, how the moisture in his eyes created a lusty fog. He let go of the numbness of his mind, the coldness of the room, of the anxiety and closed his mind to it completely.

* * *

Tomoka Osakada stared into her phone. She felt the bumps of the number keys and pressed the frostiness to her ear and lips before pulling it away and glaring harshly, almost swearing. There was a hole in her stomach she was not sure she wanted filled. Rolling against her bed, she dug her bare feet into her pillow, groaning with a frustration found snug against her chest. She felt the weight of herself falling hard against something solidly unfamiliar. She checked her phone again; no messages from Sakuno.

The loneliness crept in like a disease, breaking down her fast, bold vigor. She needed something new, and unfamiliar, some new project to throw herself into. And today, she had found it. It almost made her smile, this new obsession. Her cruel mind however, was something she did not think Sakuno could handle. Her dark side made Sakuno scared, probably. The girl who hoped to understand everything would not even begin to try to understand anything that imposed upon her castle. Tomoka sighed into her elbow. Looking at the characters on her phone, she quickly scrolled down until she found her best friend's name, and clicked _CALL_.

She waited, almost shaking, for Tomoka was never in complete control of her actions. Her brain seemed to lag behind her body, caught up on things that were not real, while she felt them with her limbs. She prided herself in never lying, never saying anything that was not what she was really feeling. If one of her other friends asked how the dress looked, she would say simply, _Like you are pregnant. _And then help her pick out a new one. There was a responsibility that came with being brutally honest, and Tomoka liked to think she had begun to fulfill it. But she had expected Sakuno to follow her, to put some effort into becoming someone who was not afraid of ceilings fans, or was not afraid to ask a guy out. They only had one more year before they split off to a university, and Sakuno would be alone.

"Hello?" Came Sakuno's shy voice.

"Hey there! What's with this? I haven't gotten a message in like three days."

"Oh…I'm sorry! But I saw you at school today…" Her tone was gentle, but somehow shaken, as if their entire friendship hinged on her words.

"Well yeah…but remember I told you that I needed to tell you something when we got home? And I couldn't tell you then and there because that girl with the weird ankles was sitting with us. And she doesn't like me…I don't know why…"

"Ah…right. I'm really sorry. You can tell me know if you want…I'll listen." It sounded like she was being physically wounded, but Tomoka sighed and continued anyway.

"So, Daisuke and I broke up."

"What?" It came out more like Sakuno did not actually hear her, and wanted Tomoka to repeat a question, rather than of disbelief over what should have been a jaw-dropping zenith.

"Yeah…I thought I would tell you. Can I stay at your house or something tomorrow? We can talk about our feelings and you can braid my hair."

Sakuno still passed her doe-eyes through the phone, and her voice was heavy with an unnecessary sympathy, "What happened? You were so happy…"

"I actually met someone I like more, actually. You know, I kinda was just getting bored. I mean he was a nice guy, but there was nothing challenging about him—you know how I like challenges."

"B-But I thought you really liked him…Didn't you say you were done with Ryoma?" Sakuno pleaded., sounding muffled and confused.

"Sorry if that makes me a bad person. It's not Ryoma, as hot as he is. But you know Sakuno, there are a lot of hot people in the world, a lot of them play tennis. A lot of them are great at tennis. And I enjoy that. I'm so _bored _with everything and everyone and I want something new. Please, please don't be mad." There was a silence, and Tomoka thought maybe she said something that should not have been said. Maybe the weight she thought Sakuno carried all this time did not exist. Maybe it was exactly what Sakuno did not want to hear. Hoping that Sakuno would not hang up, Tomoka sighed into the phone. "I don't like Ryoma."

There was a sigh on the other line that sounded remarkably like a gasp. "I'm sorry," Sakuno sighed. "I'm so, so sorry. I just…I don't know how to keep you happy."

The sound in Sakuno's voice was surprising to Tomoka. "Hey…" She began. "We're graduating next year. We'll be apart. I can't expect you to take care of me forever…you know? I'm not a kid."

"You never let anyone take care of you! Don't you think I know we're growing up! We're growing apart, into these disfigured things and I don't know how to talk to you anymore! Please don't say that you're bored when you _know _I'd give anything to be you! Don't pretend like you still don't like Ryoma…everyone does! I still…I still…I still really, really like him Tomo…I really do."

Her breath came out in ragged passages, lingering in the air hauntingly. "It's okay…I understand…I…" There was nothing else. Tomoka thought about her next words, because maybe their friendship hung on her own shoulders. Sakuno was delicate. She might be the most fragile, least selfish, most physically and mentally insecure person in the world. Her words were always in the form of a question, her eyes betrayed every emotion. She was easily swayed, easily controlled and hurt. Everything Sakuno was always shook and shattered constantly, she was never firm or decisive with anything. She never accepted compliments and a confident shoulder to lean on. That's what the two of them had always done. Tomoka considered herself to be that shoulder. That person that pushed Sakuno out of her comfort zone and into the world, into the things she never tried before, into all those scary feelings and all those new people. And Sakuno was her rock. Her one, sane, unpredictable thing she needed almost all the time. Tomoka needed Sakuno to coddle her, to tell her good things. Showers of praise and falsehoods consumed their relationship.

"Are you still there?" Sakuno asked.

"Ryoma's gone, Sakuno."

Tomoka hung up. She did not swear, or throw the phone, just let herself hang in the air before straightening. She flexed her back and looked at her messy hair in the mirror. If Sakuno could not follow her into reality, into actuality, if she was not willing to open up, then it was up to Tomoka to help her. Although every ounce of her wanted nothing more than to leave Sakuno behind, she felt the weight of her phone, and the pressure of her tingling feet. She was going to help Sakuno, as best she could. She was going to accept the person she ran into today, she was going to keep wearing her hair in pigtails, she was going to peruse her own university.

"I'm never, ever going to lie." She told her reflection.


	3. Graduation Day

**So, this chapter is a DOOZIE. Once I had gotten the original layout for it, I decides to devote about 600 words to each part, then, halfway though, I realized that came out to a bare minimum of 9,800 words. This chapter exceeds that. By a lot. I bottom line is that I don't think I can physically write another chapter this long. **

**Any input on chapter length would be much appreciated...any reviews would be lovely as well. Anyway, thanks for your time.  
**

**

* * *

Lucky Ones

* * *

**Graduation Day

* * *

Ann Tachibana was almost completely captivated by the light in Momoshiro's eyes, as they sat at the small table in the mediocre restaurant. The room was poorly lit, with dark tables and crusty ceilings and large windows. The whole restaurant smelled like coffee however, and Ann loved it. The sharp bitterness cleared her head and warmed her stomach, as the butterflies beat against her lungs in delight. Although she was desperately afraid to let conversation die, Momoshiro was easy to talk to, making observations about anything, sharing an opinion on everything, he was an endless hole of giddy conversation and sweet opportunity. Ann sighed into her coffee and smiled, "Do you miss Seigaku?"

"Of course," Momoshiro said, looking undoubtedly sad. "I miss being around my friends all the time, you know? I mean, I've got friends here, but it's not the same. I keep trying to make jokes no one gets." He tapped the table gently, "The tennis isn't half as good either."

Ann lowered her eyes and nodded slightly, her brother had said something similar. Momoshiro seemed to feel bad about talking about himself, but when he raised his eyebrows at her, Ann was not sure how to respond. "Are the players weak?" She asked dumbly.

"Nah…just more…soulless." Momoshiro said after a moment. "Suddenly, it's not for fun anymore. This is their future."

"Not yours?" Ann asked a bit too suddenly.

"T-That's not really what I meant!" Momoshiro insisted. "Tennis is my life, literally. And I love it. But I don't like playing it with people who don't have fun. And don't get me wrong, the scholarship was amazing, and I'm super grateful. I'm just being selfish is all." He shrugged, "That's all."

Ann tried to nod and swallow down the word _scholarship _while struggling to keep eye contact. She felt herself growing steadily more fearful for herself, and how awesome she would look when she declared that she had her own job working in at a grocery store checkout counter. She sunk into her chair as she remembered her foul-smelling safety net. Ann had nothing to her name. She was not excellent at tennis, she did not enjoy exercise to begin with, and she was not alarmingly intelligent, or noteworthy in any way. There was nothing to distinguish her from other, more dedicated students other than her own normality. She was entirely hapless and boring in her high school life. And now that it was all over, she would like nothing more than to go back and do more to make herself a higher quality.

"I'm sorry if this is boring," Momoshiro said, his cheeks rather flushed. "I'll stop complaining now."

"Not at all!" Ann smiled, grateful for the sudden change, and flattered at the extent of her own power. "You don't bore me." She felt her own blood rushing to her face as she stared into her dark coffee. She was frivolous with a new kind of adrenaline, despite being mad at herself for not amounting to anything. She knew, deep down, that Momoshiro would support anything she chose for a future; he would accept her and motivate her. She could impress people, and even herself with him. He could be her key to a comfortable future, one with enough money to allow happiness and enough promise to allow persistence. She leaned closer, riding the moment like a wave. "You could never bore me."

As Momoshiro snorted and grinned, Ann felt him move in closer as well. "That's good," He said. "I can't have you being bored now. I really can't."

Ann leaned in on her elbows as her eyelids fluttered unintentionally downwards. She closed the distance, leaning across the table, pressing her lips into his.

* * *

_Masaharu Niou's graduation is everything he wants it to be. Rikkaidai's gymnasium is packed with parents, teachers, and newly graduated students, and their energy is astounding. Voices echo off the high ceiling as people pass tables, shake hands, eat traditional foods, hug. Niou is surrounded by them, he knows the face of everyone in his year, and has had a conversation with almost all of them. There is a rare tranquility about the place, a new sense of calm and completion; he feels it as Jackal pats him on the back, and as Marui hangs onto his arm, laughing hysterically. Yagyuu does not smile, merely looks at him from behind his glasses and nods, coolly. But Yukimura and Yanagi are missing, and Sanada looks angry, and his fingers keep twitching against his palm. _

_There is something wrong on this joyous day, Niou senses. For whom would Sanada rather spend these moments with then Yukimura, he wonders. Jackal notices something too and lets go, taking Marui with him gently. "Where has Yukimura run off to? I was expecting some motivational speech, or at least an e-mail address…"_

_Marui pops his gum, shrugging. Niou notices the redhead stealing a hopeful glance at Sanada, only to not have it returned. _

_A very tall man in a suit slightly too small for him comes up and taps Yagyuu on the shoulder. The boy turns slowly, to shake his hand and bow. The man leans closer and whispers something into Yagyuu's ear, making Niou's skin crawl, but Yagyuu seems to brush it off; he nods to the rest of them, "My team."_

_The man tries to smile, lowering his shoulders and bowing slightly before hurrying off, as if for the first time in his life, he is embarrassed. Niou thinks that if everyone is wondering who the man was, Yagyuu does not notice, for he continues to stand, motionless and helpless against the crowd. _

_Marui shuffles his feet, breaking an impossible silence, "Let's go find them." _

_Sanada sighed. "There is no point in not telling you what you can already guess." His face contorted itself into one of sheer sympathy and responsibility. The likes of which Niou has only seen on one other occasion. _

_The room continues, busily and powerful around them. No one is interested in the tennis team now that they are no longer a representative of the school. People dance circles around them, Niou get his shoulder pushed and Marui gets stepped on. Sanada does not seem to care. Niou knows little pains are trivial in comparison to what has transpired under their eyes for years, and what is about to follow. He sees a shadow cross Sanada's face and he knows what's coming. They all do. _

"_They're with Akaya," Sanada says. "Things have gotten worse."_

_Marui's bubble pops so loud it catches Niou off guard. He looks around at everyone, hoping for some sort of comfort. But they offer none. Niou sees Marui silently offer his shoulder, Jackal offers shared regret. Yagyuu offers nothing; Niou sees nothing in him. "Fuck," He says. _

"_There's a two-percent chance my number will be called, according to Renji." Sanada says darkly. "Yukimura has an eight-percent chance, Renji has six. Marui, you have seven-percent. Niou, three-percent. Jackal," He shuffles, "five-percent." Sanada turns to Yagyuu, a deep look in his dark eyes that Niou cannot place. "One-percent." He looks at them all, and Niou feels a shiver run down his spine. Bare humanistic willpower burned down into fine-cut percentages. Niou feels sick to his stomach. "That's thirty-two percent," Sanada says, so that they all hear. "There is a thirty-two percent chance he'll ask for help." _

* * *

Ann Tachibana felt like skipping; like soaring to unbridled heights and new rooftops, over strange cities and long rivers. Her whole world was set aflame with flowers bending under her and mountains moving around her. Ann walked briskly, enjoying the caffeine that flooded her veins. The streets were almost glowing in the sun as she walked, a fresh smile upon her face, passing strangers and wordlessly encouraging them to dance with her. None of them did, and if it were not for her newly discovered boundless optimism and cheer, Ann would have felt embarrassed. But she was in control of her life again; she was stable and somehow protected and cured.

Ann hopped on a subway, ready to make a stop at the edge of the route and pick up some groceries for her mother before heading home. She liked the way her flat soles clicked against the ground as she went, tapping her fingernails against the poles as she acted out a circadian rhythm. There were few people on the subway, most were at work or in school, maybe, Ann did not really know. There was an old couple at the far end or her car, a mother and two young girls, two men pretending not to look out the window, and a teenage girl playing with a phone and waiting anxiously by the doors. They all seemed innately busy, fixated on one thing at one time, while Ann considered herself a freer spirit.

The subway rolled to a stop and Ann got off, quick to jump out into the humid air of the station. A wave of déjà vu washed over her for a moment, tingling down her arms as she peered over her shoulder before regaining composure. She smoothed her dress and pulled on the collar of her jacket and moved forward.

The grocery store was just where she left it, windows clogged with posters and cars left carelessly across the parking lot. Today was her day off, but Ann still felt weirdly obligated to helpfully move around the store and assist people with anything they needed. A few employees nodded at her, cracking a joke about her dog-like obedience, earning a frown. The store itself was of simple design, with orderly isles, logically grouped items, and captivating magazine stands.

Ann usually only read tennis magazines. She let her bias get the better of her as she stared longingly at the handsome face of Syuusuke Fuji. He was literally the most beautiful guy she had ever seen. Coughing to herself, Ann moved away and began her search for Isle Six. She knew that is where she would find eggs simply by reflexive instinct. After three weeks, she was good at her job.

In passing an isle to her right, Ann gasped, coming to a complete stop. Kirihara stood, obliviously, scanning the rows of coffee almost maternally, as if waiting for one bag to choose him. To Ann, wherever Kirihara went, he looked out of place. And even now, in dark jeans and a raggedy sweatshirt, he looked incomprehensibly wrong in a grocery store. She figured eventually, the world could collapse around him while he stood there, licking his lips at her and scowling at the same time. Once again, she was at a loss for words. She could not make her lips and throat move properly, there was no rhythmic pressure she could call fourth to spare her some misplaced embarrassment.

But he turned towards her, and in that moment of recognition, his eyes lit up; not in an affectionate way, more like a deer, pulled before a large truck. Ann, however, did not feel as large and powerful as she would have liked. Their situation was not one where she was in power. Incidents in the past had led her to be the offender, leading a slur of foul words against an army she was not quite sure even existed anymore. "No use pretending this isn't awkward," She said, not bothering to laugh. Ann had long since grown out of trying to laugh at her own jokes. She decided to stop making jokes altogether.

Kirihara shrugged, blinking away the surprise like he did not care either way and went back to staring at the coffee. "Are you going to apologize or something? 'Cause I'm really not in the mood for that shit."

"No." Ann said firmly. "Not if you intend to trample on it." She huffed, more to Kirihara than herself, but did not storm off. Something about the situation begged for resolve. "You don't live around here, and I think this might be more than just a coincidence. If I don't finish this, here and now, then I might regret it." Giving herself more stability she added, "Heaven forbid I have to see you again."

"So you _are_ apologizing then?" He asked, not looking up from the coffee.

Ann frowned, this was not how she wanted their story to end, but she nodded. "I'm sorry, for sort of pushing you down that flight of stairs that time. I'm sorry, more so, for not believing you could…you know, change. And…yeah."

He finally turned to her with a dark truth that had long since risen to the green surface of his hidden depths. "People don't change," He said.

* * *

_Keigo Atobe thinks to himself, as he sips his bubbling cider, that he truly feels in complete control of his life. He watches over the crowed from the antiquated staircase as they twirl and mingle around the ballroom, oblivious to its purpose. Hyotei's graduation party takes place every year in a ballroom that had been built for their school courtesy of an anonymous donor. The school makes good use of it, promoting diversity and impressing wealthy parents and the board of directors. The room itself is exquisite, with a high ceiling, ornately decorated and sculpted. The staircase is symmetrical and colossal, falling upwards and reaching around the room as a sort of extended balcony. There are several misplaced furniture pieces about the room, velvet sofas, elongated tables filled with punches and teas and shrimp. And in contrast to this glossy, manufactured, historical, picturesque beauty, Atobe listens not to the chatter and smiles of the world below him, but to the maddening, jagged, one-sided conversation to his left. _

"_And I honestly don't see how people can just follow her like that. Seriously, she thinks that just because she has brown hair, and that her grandfather died last week that she's gonna get the job. That's bullshit. I would lie my ass off to get that job. And she's so unmotivated! I mean, I usually half-ass things that aren't compensated for with great food, or at least one cute guy hitting on me, but I can fake enthusiasm. Like right now, I can pretend I am super excited to be wearing this dress, even though I would rather be at a corner table in a super market eating a chocolate doughnut and drugging myself on coffee, but no, no I choose to be here, with you, standing in what appears to be a very unstable and poorly designed ballroom. Keigo, I hope you're happy."_

_He turns to the girl, taking in her dress, which she fills out quite well, while at the same time managing to look angry and put-out against the elegant, stained-glass window. But she is so messy and impure; it is no wonder to him why he is so entranced. "So happy," He says, raising an eyebrow in almost a challenge. _

_She sighs impatiently. "I understand that you ran this place, but congratulations on finally getting out." She fiddles with her necklace, a chain through a ring, a symbol of an impossible marriage. "But the food's not that good. I had like, four shrimp and I'm still starving. And those girls keep staring at you. And me, but mostly you." She nods, bored upon realizing she might not be about to be brutalized by insults serious competition. "I think they want to talk to you." _

_Atobe peers over his shoulder, "It appears I am still a hot commodity." He smirks, outwardly. "Would you like to meet some very boring, shallow people?" _

_The girl wrinkles her nose. "No. I am boring and shallow. I can't stand people like that." She shakes her head profoundly, "Go entertain them. I'm going to go look for a rich boy and ask him to marry me. And," She adds, grinning boldly with talkative teeth, "I lied. I have eaten seven shrimp tonight." With that, she turns on her heels and marches off, tangled blonde hair bouncing around her in the way that a dogs hair does as it runs. _

_But it takes only about three full seconds before the group of girls flocks to Atobe's side. Out of the five of them, only three are very pretty, the rest are average; but they all wear their dresses and hair well, so Atobe sighs, and tosses his own hair appealingly before realizing that most of it is gone._

"_Atobe…" One of the girls whines, "I'm going to miss you very much…" _

_Atobe almost throws up in his mouth. _

"_It would have been nice to get to know you better," Another girl shrugs. _

_Inhaling, Atobe finds a sort of comfort in the second girl's eyes. He recognizes her as a cello player, one Choutarou spoke highly of. He is about to say something charming, and undoubtedly hilarious, but another girl cuts him off. _

"_What university are you going to?"_

"_It's not a very common one…" _

"_I'll bet it's expensive…"_

"_Oh, of course it is." Atobe sighs. "What did you expect, eh?" He has realized that he is not good at transitioning from candid conversation to forced small talk. He is still too blunt, and rude for his liking. He thinks he owes these girls a bit more than cold and sharpness, so he smiles, winningly. "Of course, it won't be Hyotei." _

"_Oh…" One of the girls practically moans, awkwardly. _

"_I wish you good luck in your studies!" A girl says, seeming honest and sincere, as much as she could be, while wearing an obnoxious flower on her head. _

"_I'm sure you will be amazing wherever you are," Another says. "If you don't mind…"_

"_Do you think," The cellist asks tentatively, unconsciously cutting off her friend. "I could maybe get your friend's number…Shishido?" _

_Atobe breaks out into a grin, "Oh, of course." _

* * *

_Yuushi Oshitari would much rather be in a number of places than Shitenhoji's graduation party. The parents and teachers and students are far too close for his liking. He dislikes the temple school very much, and does not hesitate to mention it to Kenya. Now, he leans against a tall, red gateway, staring pensively at the very long stone path leading down through the trees. That is his escape, those stairs. But instead, he turns to his cousin, and mutters, "Tell me more." He is hardly listening to Kenya, and really has not been for the past half-hour, but the boy just graduated, and Oshitari slowly starts to think he owes his cousin something more than he has already tried to give. But before he can apologize, or initiate something, Kenya ruins it._

"_I think I'm in love with him."_

"_That's nice," Oshitari says._

"_I dunno…he's sorta my best friend and all." _

_Oshitari does not look at Kenya, almost tries his hardest to stare down those stone steps. Never before has freedom looked to good. He could make a run for it. But he does not. Oshitari tries to ground himself in the moment, trying to offer something up to his cousin lamely. "Is he really…all that?" There is no curiosity behind it, only moldy admiration. _

"_Yeah," Kenya breathes. "He makes tennis look beautiful. I just love watching him play. Ha-ha, that's a little weird. I'm sorry. It's weird of me to talk about this, isn't it?"_

"_Yep."_

"_But I don't wanna do something I'll regret, or you know, maybe not do something I will regret, you know?" For the first time that night, Oshitari tries to make eye contact with Kenya. The boy looks much older than he is, leaning against the archway, kicking stray rocks and laughing to himself. He eyes do not meet Oshitari's because the boy really is not trying. "He's like…my favorite person ever," He mumbles. "He's super-popular and nice. Almost too nice. I actually think he is secretly terrified of people not liking him. It's sorta endearing and annoying, you know? He's like, totally emerged in tennis one second, and then the next, he's helping Kintaro do his English homework. I feel like such a loser around him though."_

_Disgruntled, Oshitari sighs. "There is a line between admiration and love." _

"_There's a line between a lot of things and love," Kenya adds. _

_He says it so carelessly that it catches Oshitari off guard. He unconsciously thinks about all the different things he feels, all the time. Long stretches of camaraderie, and in between, brief instances of other emotions now given a second meaning. Every handshake, every high-five, every forced hug, every swear, every apology, every pat on the shoulder, every compliment now seem slightly different, like they are slightly ajar or episodically wrong, now that he remembers them. There is a new awkwardness, a new thoughtfulness that now lingers in his mind. "I guess." He mumbles. _

"_Do you love anyone?" Kenya asks, childishly and desperately. _

"_No." Oshitari says simply. He shrugs, "Seriously, I'm not. I have never been."_

"_God," Kenya groans. "It sucks. Love really, really sucks. Men suck, people suck, everything is just awful sometimes, you know? Like, no matter how much you think about it, there is just no way things will work out for you. The two people are going to different universities, lead two different lives, they will get swallowed up by all these differences, and it sucks because one of them won't know this horrible feeling the other has for him. It is literally the worst and the best feeling, at the same time."_

_Oshitari sighs. Really, really not wanting to bare his soul to his cousin, he tries to focus on the curve of the downward slope of the mountain, where the steps bend right and disappear behind the ground. He wants to complain to someone so badly about family boundaries. "Well," He begins, coldly, "this might be the perfect opportunity to tell this guy. You've really got nothing to lose at this point." He looks up at Kenya's face, hoping his cousin says No._

_But he does not. Kenya's face lights up and he nods, setting his jaw and flaring his nostrils slightly. His body goes slightly rigid with determination. "Thanks," He says. "For everything. I think I'm actually gonna go do it. You've been so…just, thanks."_

_Something clicks and Oshitari suddenly feels nauseous. He does not want to take responsibility for this. This will not be his fault. He could never take that much responsibility. He does not need that kind of pressure. "Go for it." He lies. "Odds are, this is probably not the most important day of your life."_

"_I'm gonna confess to Shiraishi tonight." _

* * *

Ann Tachibana waited too eagerly in the subway station exchanging nervous, furious glances with Kirihara. Eight minutes. Eight minutes until she was free. She clutched the shopping bag tightly, letting the weight of it pull her down and calm her center of gravity as she felt her shoulders begin to ache. "This is so unfortunate," She groaned, shuffling her feet against the cement ground. "Literally…this sucks. This really sucks."

"You're going to be fine," Kirihara snapped, digging his hands into his pockets. "I'm not gonna mug you or anything."

Instinctively, Ann looked around at the many people gathered nearby, waiting for the same train. There would be an incoming flood soon, she knew. It would take careful maneuvering, but she would make her train with dignity and grace. Then she would never see Kirihara again, and she would calmly navigate through the rest of her life. This was the real end.

"I actually have to get on the same train." He said, as though he could read her mind, and still chose to pick at it.

Ann made a sound somewhere between a growl and a throat yodel, earning her several stares, and one shuffle three steps back. "You know," She said, almost laughing, "for someone who doesn't give a shit, you are certainly putting a lot of effort into this. I mean, I wouldn't even be surprised if you offered to walk me home after this."

"You're an idiot." He said, simply.

"Oh yeah," Ann nodded, "I'm the idiot."

Suddenly, Kirihara was walking towards her. And in a slow-motion display of incoordination, Ann stumbled away. She felt their shoulders knock as her heel hit the ground hard. She tripped. And down she went as her leg fell out from under her.

She noticed the crash of her groceries before she noticed the numbness of her wrists. Ann watched as the eggs poured through the edges of the plastic bag, spilling onto the cement. She heard a gasp from someone behind her as she let her arms unlock, falling limp against her hips.

"You're bleeding." Kirihara said in a tone far too quiet for him, as he stood over her. Ann looked up at him dumbly, and saw no intention of helpfulness or kindness in him. She heard hushed whispers around her, and one low murmur. "Stand up," He said.

Slowly, Ann looked up at the digital board above their heads. Four minutes. She looked at the eggs, bleeding along the ground and into the cement, the money gone to waste. Again, she looked up at Kirihara, hoping to see some kind of softness as she sat there on the ground, hot and anesthetized at the same time. One woman was definitely sobbing behind her. Ann stared at her hands in mild disbelief; they were speckled with nicks and cuts, with cherry blood pulsating through the open cracks, dribbling down her wrist and under her fingernails. "How…" She muttered.

The hands under her elbow were not gentle, Ann noticed. Kirihara's fingers seemed to cling to her with a sense of disparity and bewildering nervousness. "You're gonna get trampled, stupid." Ann felt herself sway; she was not dizzy, just unaware of the extent of her legs. She tilted back in an attempt to reach for the grocery bag. She felt warmth in between her shoulder blades where Kirihara's hand rested as she stared longingly at the broken eggs.

* * *

_Kunimitsu Tezuka is quite good at saying _goodbye_ to people. And he prides himself in it. He says _goodbye_ to Coach Ryuzaki, to Oishi and Kikumaru, to Kawamura and Inui, and leaves some inspirational words for Momoshiro and Kaidoh and Echizen. Tezuka thinks it is a good feeling to be able to say _goodbye_ to someone with confidence and poise, and any other lingering feelings one might wish to preserve. He thanks all of them, at their graduation, he uses graceful lingo and well-mannered jest that is not jest at all. No one really gets it, but he knows it is enough. _

"_Hey, Tezuka, wanna go make out?" Fuji asks._

_Tezuka shrugs. _

_So they do. _

_Fuji is the one person that Tezuka does not mind saying _goodbye_ to. With everyone else, he feels it in his heart. Every time Kawamura and Kikumaru plan a sushi party, or Inui suggests they all go out bowling together, Tezuka feels it, and hopes that those things happen. But a goodbye to Fuji is not like that at all. He feels nothing when he says that word. Not ever in the past, not now in the present. Especially now, pressing Fuji against the high, chain fence surrounding tennis courts that they have followed for years, sucking on his lips and washing his teeth with his tongue, Tezuka feels slighted, because this does not feel like a _goodbye_._

"_I'm good at this," Fuji reminds him._

_Tezuka pulls back for a moment, trying to find something in his friend's clear blue eyes, but nothing is hidden, for Fuji has no secrets to keep. "I think you've mentioned that before, in passing like—months ago, maybe."_

"_Maybe." Fuji adds. _

_Leaning in, Tezuka hears Fuji laugh before he presses their lips together; they move against one another, a bit like waves, crashing and falling and meshing. Fuji brushes his fingers through Tezuka's hair, gently. A comforting push forward. Because they are always moving forward, except when Fuji is not. But Tezuka feels him push forward, with his tongue, and the two of them keeping moving. _

_Tezuka has always sort of loved Fuji. He thinks it is pretty much the way anyone loves anyone, in pieces, at different times, making them feel sorry for themselves. He gets used to it. Fuji knows too, casually, and the two of them celebrate it, in the way that normal people do: feeling out the bumps and boundaries. Tezuka focuses on a cloud behind Fuji's head, so he does not take things too far, and Fuji probably does the same. They are excellent at controlling themselves. Except when Tezuka is not. And the cloud fades away into the blue that happens to almost be the same color that Fuji's eyes are._

_So Tezuka pulls away, breathing hard and not smiling. "We should go back," He says in defeat. _

_Fuji grins, "That's true." He pulls himself off the fence, but it tries to cling to him. "We may never see these people again."_

_Before he knows it, Tezuka finds himself asking, "What about us?"_

"_There's plenty of time…" Fuji says, like it is obvious. _

* * *

Ann Tachibana new her mother would be worried if she did not call. But, thinking rationally, she needed to clean her hands first. As she stood in the public restroom, letting the cool water cleanse her hands, she felt a disturbing ache in her stomach somewhere between nausea and relief. She stared into the drain, watching small pebbles of cement gather, along with hair that was not hers, and murky reddish fluid. Kirihara told her that the cement ten feet or so from the subway was not sanded down to a pearly gray in order to provide traction. Ann sighed and gently touched the biggest scratch, a long one, down the side of her thumb; she had an awkward desire to have someone kiss it.

She shut the water off, carefully, and being even more careful when she pulled loose an expanse of paper towels. She imagined this scenario with Momoshiro, almost unconsciously. But it did not make her smile to imagine how flustered or scared he might be—she allowed herself a brief lapse in narcissism. He might even offer to wrap her hands for her, and walk her home. Such devoted kindness made her heart warm, but she did not smile at it, because she could manage all that by herself. As a matter of fact, she wanted to.

When she opened the door, she had completely expected Kirihara to be gone. But he was not. Leaning against the metal banister that wound down into the depths of the subway station, he looked lazy and mad, but somehow grounded. Ann almost laughed. "All done," She said.

"You're not." He said, straightening. "You need to wrap them."

"Working on it." Ann snapped, plopping herself on a nearby bench, kicking off her shoes and crossing her legs comfortably around her. She stared at her hands intently before she took a deep breath. "I've got this." She grabbed one end of the paper towel and started at her wrist, wedging her fingers around it as she coiled it gently about the bone. She smirked triumphantly at Kirihara who stared at her with an awkward amount skepticism. Using her other wrist to pin the first successful wrap, Ann wound the paper over her thumb, which was beginning to bleed again. She pulled the paper towel across her palm, quickly; so quickly, in fact, that it slipped from her wrist. "Crap…" She hissed. She tried her best to not look Kirihara in the eye, because that would mean surrender. She tried again, and once again, the paper slipped from her wrist.

"You're doing it wrong." Kirihara said.

"I _know_." Ann spat back, never once taking her eyes from her hand. "I'm working on it. But I can deal without your sass."

"Are you going to ask for help?" He asked in a voice that did not seem to be his own.

"No." Ann said firmly. "I can do this by myself. I don't want to…owe you. So I've got this myself." She felt no desire to look up at him, or ask for help in any other fashion. Ann simply tried, and tried again, until she managed to finally wrap one end of the paper towel under the other, sealing it in place. "Yeah…" She whispered, wrapping it roughly around her fingers, and tightly across her palm. Now to end it. Ann ripped the paper with a rare tenacity using her teeth, and folded it carefully under another flap of paper towel. It was far from perfect, or even good. But she smiled at her work before looking up at Kirihara. "Suck it," She said.

The expression on Kirihara's face was far from pleased, which Ann enjoyed. But she felt a little guilty at the unexpected intensity in his green eyes. She noticed his shoulders were rigid, as though his whole body was some sort of poised shield. She stared at his hands, clenched and white. He seemed to be on the verge of making a serious decision. "You're right-handed, aren't you?" He asked, relaxing his shoulders and turning his eyes to her right hand, which was bleeding again. "Have fun with that one."

"Oh," Ann breathed. "I hadn't…crap." In one moment of desperation, of anticipation and expectance, Ann forgot to force herself to not look at Kirihara in a way that insisted upon help. She opened her mouth, wordlessly.

He looked, for a moment, as if he were about to get down on one knee; as if he would take her hand with a gentleness she had not even fathomed. Because that was what a normal person would do. Morality would supersede pride, and Ann would never look at Kirihara the same way again. She seemed deserving of this, she thought. She had been kind, she had tried her best to let the past die and continue forward. She had surpassed the obstacle that was Akaya Kirihara, and she felt as though she deserved some sign that he had surpassed her as well.

But he did not get down on one knee. Kirihara just shrugged. "Sorry about your eggs then," He muttered. He turned away from her, looking somehow disgusted with himself and the sun as well. "I probably won't see you around. Good luck with your hand." And he walked away.

Ann jumped to her feet, "What the f—"

* * *

_The first thing Yuuta Fuji sees in the crowd of faces is his brother and sister, they smile the same way, he notices. It seems as though they smile sometimes with only a part of their face, but he is flattered to see them smiling at him the way they do not for other people. Their parents are not there, courtesy of an ill-timed business trip. It does not bother him, as it is not their choice , and he received lots of loving phone calls which, although causes him much embarrassment, also gives him a sense of calm. But then he sees Mizuki, and the calm goes away. He has not seen Mizuki since he graduated Saint Rudolph. It had been on an awkward note, because of Yuuta's feelings of endearment and simple devotion. It is a bit weird to him, the feeling in his chest, like an inverted hurricane, and bubble rush of blood to his face. Mizuki completely and obviously knows. _

_The smile on Mizuki's face is not one of congratulations, but of victory. It is cruel and hilarious the same time, and Yuuta thinks about flipping him off with a grin; he decides he will, later. For now, Yuuta accepts his award, shaking hands with a man he has never met, and abandons Mizuki's eyes for his brother's. He straightens up, and walks back to his seat. It takes about three seconds before he feels Mizuki's eyes burning into the back of his head. _

_When it is over, Yuuta listens to his sister cry and his brother whisper unimportant things in his ear. The two of them pat their sister on her back and tell her that she is going to be alright and that Yuuta has a very bright future. Yuuta begins to realize, after ten minutes, that his siblings have no desire to give him up, and Mizuki casually strolling around the dorm complex poses no threat to them. Nothing ever poses a threat to his brother. _

"_Can I get back to you guys?" Yuuta asks, tentatively, feeling out the expressions that drift across their faces. "Hey, I need to go say goodbye to my friends," He smirks. _

"_You have friends!" His sister sobs sarcastically. _

_Syuusuke looks at him, eyes full of potent curiosity. "Oh, really?" His brother seems like he is on the edge of some kind of quiet concern, but then surrenders, taking their sister's arm. "Let's go pretend to be sexually repressed by the punch bowl." _

_The two leave, arm in arm and Yuuta spins out of the gymnasium into the sunlight. And it is an odd feeling, walking down the asphalt. He had walked down this path yesterday. He has moved out of his dorm room already, the boxes clutter his room at home, posters litter the floor with playful university suggestions. It is surreal to him, as though he is leaving his real home._

_The rooms loom like castles over Yuuta's head, as he walks past the familiar shrubbery, the welcoming windows and exclusive atmosphere. _

"_It's about time." Mizuki steps out of the doorway of their old dorm, hands in his pockets, and a less-than-pleased look on his face. "Does your brother ever stop talking? What does he even have to talk about?"_

_Yuuta laughs, "You'd be surprised. Sometimes he gets his dreams and reality confused. It takes a while for him to come back down."_

_Mizuki snorts; Yuuta knows he did not come to talk about his brother. "More importantly," He says, "you're out. You are standing on the threshold of your future," he extends his arms, eyes aflame, "are you ready?"_

_Yuuta shrugs, "I've been ready." He takes a step forward, making Mizuki smirk. "I've been ready since I transferred here." Another step. "Ever since you…"_

"_I think you're confused." Mizuki says, taking a step back, making Yuuta cringe. He begins to shut himself down, refusing to accept responsibility for his actions. The thoughts he arouse, the damage to Yuuta's arm, there is a fear of liability Mizuki cannot tolerate. Knowing he makes the other feel this way, almost encourages Yuuta; it would, if it did not make him so mad._

"_It's you," Yuuta says. "You're not ready, but I am. I am ready to try to be with you. Even if you're not—and I know you're not, because you're you and you are an idiot. But I'm ready. I've been ready."_

* * *

_Ryo Shishido feels slightly out of place here. It is so familiar on the outside, but internally, the school is completely different. There are traces of Atobe everywhere, which he expects, and scowls at. There are their trophies, but no tennis team to claim them anymore. There is their clubroom, filled with new clothes and new jerseys and new rackets. Shishido shifts his feet, uncomfortable in his shoes as he searches the sea of faces for only one. He cranes his neck, eagerly scanning over the heads of parents. Gnawing on his gum impulsively, Shishido crosses his arms and groans, unintentionally loudly, earning an irritated huff from a tall man sitting in front of him._

_Shishido leans back, watching the faces of the new graduates; finally he lands his eyes on familiar ones, large and brown and watery. Shishido smiles, nodding, in hopes that the other boy can see him. _

_The last name is called, and the crowd claps, lifelessly. They rise to their feet, arms and hands in mindless synchronicity for the newly graduated class. Shishido feels slightly awkward, trying to keep one-sided eye contact with Choutarou, especially since he knows the boy is probably searching for his family. But in the midst of hushed embarrassment, Shishido sees him smile, at him. And he claps harder._

_After the ceremony is over, Shishido watches Choutarou and his family. They are a large bunch, his mom never cuts her hair and his father never smiles. His younger brothers run around constantly, and his older sister quietly judges from a rude distance. Shishido does not think they like him, but he tries his best to be polite during every encounter. Not today though; today he promised Choutarou he would come to his graduation and the two would catch up. The other boy's family will have to wait. _

_When Choutarou sees him, it is sort of like being squished by a marshmallows, Shishido thinks. The boy bounces over, in the way that only he can, and almost just throws his arms around Shishido before flushing, and handing the situation with a more stereotypical hug. They both laugh, and Shishido feels warm and happy. _

_Shishido is not surprised that Choutarou cannot resist physical contact; he presses his thumb gently into Shishido's pulse, "How are you?" Like it has been years. "I thought you might not come, actually."_

"_That's a crock of shit." Shishido grins. "I wouldn't miss this." _

_Choutarou snickers, and Shishido realizes that the boy has grown, again. He has to practically tilt his head back and look past his chin before he can get to the eyes. _

"_It's really, really good to see you!" Choutarou laughs. "Let me just talk things over with my family and then we can go alright? I promise, I'll be quick."_

_Shishido coughs, "Maybe I should just wait outside? I don't really want to…" At Choutarou's raised eyebrows, he trails off. "I don't want to ruin a family moment." _

"_My family loves you…"_

_He laughs, accidentally. It's a cruel one, that brings him back to a reality where the two of them are surrounded by people, where Choutarou's brothers watch them indifferently, where his parents try not to look at them at all, and where his sister makes no effort to shy away from throwing daggers with her eyes. _

_Choutarou does not seem to understand, but he smiles weakly, and turns back to his family, all grins and hand gestures. _

"_Shit." Shishido grumbles. He looks around, hoping for some other familiar face, but sees none. He wonders if no one notices them, or if no one has in the past. But somehow, Choutarou's family knows. They know about his feelings, about the way he looks at their son, and it does not sit quite right with them, Shishido knows. But Choutarou is naive, and trusting, Shishido remembers the boy easily getting bullied, easy stressed. He would never disobey his parents, there is not a single rebellious bone in Choutarou's body. "Shit," He says again. _

"_Do you love my brother?"_

_Shishido whirls around, coming face-to-face with Choutarou's sister, and her face is like an enormous frost heave. Her eyebrows are perfectly bent, cutting like razors across her forehead, lips firm and thin, incapable of bending; her eyes are what gets him the most though, dark and shallow, like her eyelashes get in the way of the actual eye, making her sockets twice as dark. Her hair contrasts almost violently with her pale skin, she looks perfectly healthy, in complete control of every extension of her body. She and Choutarou are nothing alike. _

_But Shishido is prepared for this. Nothing scares him, actually. He has never had a nightmare, or screamed during one of their team's 'bonding movie nights.' He is not afraid of this girl, only frustrated. Frustrated that he cannot physically make her be nicer, or more accepting. "To each their own." He snarls._

"_No," She says, wrinkling her nose, "it doesn't work like that."_

* * *

"What is your problem?" Ann Tachibana demanded. "I've tried to be nice to you! I've apologized for everything and you're still an asshole. I really and honestly thought you had changed, but you really haven't. You still don't give a shit about anyone, even when they need your help." She stomped her bare foot into the ground. "Do you know how hard it is for me to even look at you after what you did to my brother? And Fuji? Any whoever else you've hurt? It's horrible—you're horrible. I don't understand why it's so hard for you to just _stop _being a terrible person. You won't get anywhere and eventually, no one will give a shit about you. Is that what you really want?" Ann was far from tears, but she felt the blood pulse around her face and out her right hand with an intensity she had not felt in a long time. "I tried so hard to forgive you…"

Kirihara turned to her, his face a mixture of shock and enigmatic knowledge. "Keep shouting," He said calmly, "if it helps you. But you need to get off your high-horse and take a look around. Nothing's changing. Not me, not you. I'm still a monster, and you're still a selfish child who thinks the whole world revolves around her. Your forgiveness doesn't mean anything to me. In the scheme of things, _you _mean nothing. You're the one who thinks you deserve to be apologized to. Nothing's ever even happened to you. You don't know anything." He walked over to her, eyes full of a twisted, passive malice Ann could barely comprehend. "Sit down," He told her.

She sat. More like, her knees gave out under her. "I hate you," She whispered, staring up at him.

"I know," He said, taking her right hand, giving up on it as though it were already dead. He grabbed the collection of paper towel beside Ann, and she watched as he gingerly sank to his knees. "You're such an idiot." He said as he turned her wrist skywards, folding the paper around it, slowly. His fingers touched her flesh gently, and if she had not been trying to fixate on that exact sensation, she might have found herself wondering if he was even touching her at all. He turned the trail of white around her palm, winding it around her fingers with expert design.

Ann watched out of the corner of her eye as her hand disappeared under the paper towel, with small mushrooms of red blotting through. Never once did she take her eyes of Kirihara, but he did not seem to even notice her, his whole attention captured by her small hand. "Are you trying to resurrect it?" She asked. He paused for a moment, but then continued, because it obviously was not a joke. Finally, he enveloped her thumb in the confines of the paper towel and twisted it, tying a rather perfect knot. Ann stared at it, wondering briefly where Kirihara had learned how to do that. "If I say thank you…will you get mad?" She asked.

"Probably," He shrugged, getting to his feet fluidly. "I don't want you to think that this changes things."

"Things don't change, remember?" Ann tried her best to smile, but Kirihara did not return it. "Maybe," She said, more to herself than him. It was almost unconscious, Ann's unrelenting boredom. She felt the _tick-tock_ of her watch against her skin constantly, a reminder in silence. She watched her academics fade away, her tennis, her friends. "Maybe," She said again, "maybe I could apologize to you some other time."

* * *

_The first thing Tomoka Osakada does is fling her arms around Sakuno. "We did it!" She cries. "We did it! High school, Sakuno. We're going to high school!" She knows Sakuno is doing her best to try and listen, but her attention is dissipated by the scenes around her. Refusing to let go, Tomoka punches Horio in the stomach, grinning. The five of them are together, Sakuno, Horio, Katchiro and Katsuo, searching dumbly for their parents and glowing with pride and stupid grins and laughing eyes. Seigaku's gymnasium was built for this. The chairs set neatly in rows provides no barrier against the flow of parents and relatives as they come forward, full of hugs and praise. _

_Tomoka sees Sakuno scanning their class, and she sighs, pulling the girl away from the boys. _

"_You gonna say it?"_

"_S-Say what?" Sakuno mumbles. "I don't have…"The girl crumbles out of Tomoka's reach, with no determination or resolve to her what so ever. _

"_Geez…"Tomoka sighs; it comes out crueler than she intended, but Sakuno just smiles weakly. _

"_Hey look, Momoshiro is here!" Horio's voice breaks through their tender moment violently. _

_But he's not lying. A cluster of Seigaku regulars gathers around the familiar faces of Momoshiro, Kikumaru, Tezuka, and Fuji. Also some unfamiliar ones, like Fuji's younger brother, looking bored and not hesitating to hide it. And a group of Fudomine players, one of which is getting into a rather spirited discussion with Momoshiro. Tomoka looks harder, as she has not seen these people in normal attire before; she notices Ryoma bogged down by the small redhead from Shitenhoji. She also notices Yukimura, his face stands out to her amongst the others, looking pale and pleasant as he tries to shake Ryoma's hand. She knows something is not right._

"_Hey there." Tomoka whispers in Sakuno's ear. "Look at them. It's like an ocean of hotness." _

"_T-Tomoka!" Sakuno gasps. "That's so…weird…" _

"_Let's go see them!"_

"_Wait—no I don't think—"_

_It is too late, for Tomoka is a greater force of nature than she knows Sakuno could ever expect. And in no time, they are galloping over to the group of boys, the smaller and more inadequate boys trailing close behind. Tomoka sees no boundaries as she hugs Ryoma, grinning and congratulating him on the seven different scholarships she knows he will not take. She hugs Momoshiro and Kikumaru, smiling and conversing easily. _

_Tomoka is a master of conversation, and she knows it. She knows everything about everyone, and has no trouble segueing from one topic to another; she can expand on someone else's idea, carefully managing her own thunderous opinions. But when she sees Sakuno looking a little sad, and Ryoma a little uncaring, she frowns. She thinks for a moment about trying to tie the two of them together, but then she gets distracted by Yukimura, opening a fresh conversation easily and kindly. She is a bit dazed and intrigued. She also finds herself salivating._

* * *

_The only thing Taichi Dan is thinking of is the smell of the clubroom, as he blinks in confusion, "What?" He repeats, dumbly. Incomprehensible, oblivious, Dan has never even considered the possibility of this, never before in his own bubble of predictability and odds and percentages. His own total inexperience has told him to avoid such confusing and delicate matters, and Sengoku is very much a confusing and delicate matter. "I don't really understand what you mean, or why you are picking now to tell me…surely this is a joke."_

"_C'mon, have some faith in me." Sengoku is all smiles and astounding confidence. _

"_You joke about this kind of thing all the time."_

_He pauses, scratching his foot against the clubroom floor. "It's been a long time since I have been here." Sengoku says. "But it's weird now," He looks around, as if the clubroom where their team gathered every day was boring. "Now I really don't care about it. The tennis courts are kinda crappy, and the people are kinda iffy."_

"_Then why would you come here?" Now Dan is getting frustrated. "Why would you say…that, and then just…you are being weird."_

"_Because," Sengoku pauses, trying to find the sentence he wants, moving his hands over the words as if they were physical elements. "Because, you know, it's only important if there are people there with you. And, now that you've graduated…I really couldn't care less about this place."_

"_I graduated an hour ago. Sentimentality does not suit you." Dan said, staring at the scratches in the floor. He moves his eyes along one in particular, it ends in the corner, below a window with a long crack. Dan remembers when Akutsu threw a glass bottle at the clubroom, he remembers being inside it when the glass above his head shattered. "You were never even here for stuff. Like when we pulled that splinter out of Muromachi's foot with my grandmother's bird pin. Or when Higashikata threw up and we had to call the ambulance. You weren't there for any of it. How could it mean anything to you?" Dan does not try to sound ungrateful. He has loved Sengoku for years now; loved in the sense of blind curiosity and opportunity. He was grateful for everything he had, and everything Sengoku had, and Dan does not get angry about anything, he does not hate or spite anyone for he believes there is no reason to, in the scheme of things. Doing his best to look polite, Dan shrugs._

_He watches Sengoku's face break into a sad smile. "Right." _

"_I didn't mean it like…that…" Dan sighed. "I just…you can't be in love with me. It just doesn't make sense. I didn't mean to bring that other stuff up."_

"_Have you ever been in love, Taichi?" Sengoku asks openly, no judgmental tone in any word. _

"_No," Dan replies simply. _

"_Yeah," Sengoku says, laughing a little, "it's awful. Really, really awful." _

"_You don't fall in love." Dan points out, sounding as methodical has he can. "You of all people, don't. And someone like me? A likely story." He leans against the wall, tilting his head to the firm cold. "I think you should just think about it, you know?" Fumbling with his fingers, Dan feels a pang in his throat, like the words are muffled and clogged. He is acutely aware of the seconds slipping away, but too stuck in place to hold them. "I'm sorry. I just don't…believe you."_

* * *

The train rocked Ann Tachibana into a state of utter quiet. She just sat there, and thought. She thought about her date with Momoshiro, about Kirihara, about her broken eggs, about her bandaged hands, and about what she would do tomorrow. She felt both extremely guilty, and extremely excited at the same time; she felt odd, smiling to herself on a subway, contemplating the focuses and tribulations of her day. Of the acute feelings and actions and their footprints. She was going out again with Momoshiro next week, on a hopefully sunny Saturday, she was possibly going to see Kirihara again, and she would go grocery shopping tomorrow, eventually her hands would heal, and today would become nothing but a memory, dusty and faded with age the next time she remembered it.

There was a familiar twinge Ann felt in her heart, when she thought about Momoshiro and Kirihara at the same time. They overrode her eggshells and cut hands with their own wild personalities and individual problems and perfections and imperfections. Ann was almost stunned at her own audacity to peruse Momoshiro, but it certainly made her happy, and proud of herself. She took the time to think about Kirihara, and the way he moved like he was afraid she might attack him, she thought about his honesty and horrid helpfulness and wondered why she wanted him, arriving at no particular conclusion. But when she pictured Momoshiro getting jealous, she giggled, willing to accept herself as such a prize. She knew things would work out, because, so far, they had. All she had to do was keep her head high and walk with purpose.

Ann stated down at her hands, comparing the two bandages. Hers was messy and rather discombobulated, a haphazard fix, but she was proud of it. While looking at Kirihara's handy work, she felt a puzzling curiosity and danger under those bandages. The work was thorough, neat and sufficient. A bizarre contrast she would have never imagined. Again, more fragments of the past hours flooded her mind, bombarding her with criticism and advice, metaphoric encounters and their poor handling made her moan. She did not feel helpless, more so selfishly in willing control of everything, as though this was all the universe's fault, and not her own. These pieces fell into her lap, ready for manipulation and analysis.

She knew that if push came to shove, she would choose Momoshiro; she would save her money and work hard, she would go to a university and get a real job, one that was fulfilling and strenuous. She would not allow herself to sink into some downward spiral, hypnotic and alluring. Until then, until the point of no return, Ann decided to venture forth, into uncharted waters filled with strange creatures and dissolving icebergs. She would live it up a bit before falling into an ultimately successful routine, and she would make the change easily, because she had confidence in herself and her motivation, as impure as it might be. Ann felt a smile grace her lips, scenarios running through her brain quickly, all the while managing to leave imprints across her heart and tongue. She was beginning a game, at this moment, or maybe it had already begun. But she did not know when it started, as Ann was known to never pay attention to the start of anything. It was her favorite part, so she let it fly by, into oblivion.

* * *

_Sakuno Ryuzaki feels utterly helpless against the crowd of powerful figures. She exchanges worried glances with Katchiro, who smiles weakly at her and shrugs. Surrounded by tennis players who all looms a head or two above her, she feels rickety and fearful. Ryoma is so close, but even farther away somehow with Tomoka between them, crazily talking about tennis statistics. Sakuno knows her best friend is a social butterfly, and she is proud she has grown into eloquence and a large vocabulary. But Sakuno knows Tomoka cannot read social situations that well, or maybe it is just Sakuno's paranoia, but Horio is rolling his eyes and Ryoma looks bored and Rikkaidai's former captain has a bizarrely focused look in abnormally lazy eyes. Her voice is quiet, almost non-existent as she tries to move closer to Ryoma and say something, whisper one _goodbye_ or the opposite. It is the least she can do. Taking a deep breath, she starts, "Uh…"_

_The next second, a wild mass of red hair crashes into her. Sakuno stumbles into Momoshiro, who catches her easily. "Hey are you—"_

"_I'm sorry! Crap, crap I am sorry, ha-ha, it's my fault I'm sorry!" _

"_Geez Kintaro, be more careful." _

_Sakuno recognizes the sensible voice of Shiraishi of Shitenhoji, along with the strained chaos that was Kintaro. _

"_Apologize to her," Shiraishi orders._

"_I did!" Kintaro's face contorts into one of agony and devastation. "I am so sorry!" He says to Sakuno, making her physically uneasy. _

_She is shaking, and knows Momoshiro can feel it, but Sakuno pulls herself away, stuttering and trying to laugh it off. She unconsciously makes eye contact with Ryoma. Her brown eyes filled with unconscious fear and anxiety. She sees nothing in his eyes. And it is awful, the idea that she may never see him after this day. She thinks to herself about all the opportunities she has had to spill out her feelings, but then imagines him, and all the chances he has had. But he feels nothing, she knows. And she wonders about a girl that could bring out a light in his eyes, and hopes it might be her, already letting doubt creep into her heart. She knows she does not have enough control, enough power within herself to ever take something she wants. _

"_Hey…"_

_Sakuno gasps at the hand on her shoulder. She whirls around to face the redhead, heart ready to leap up her throat at any moment. _

"_Are you alright?" Kintaro asks. "I didn't mean to run into you…I was trying to get away from Shiraishi and I didn't see you, honest." He uses his whole face to talk, grinning and moving his eyebrows in a rare combination of gentleness and totally security. "You look really scared…did I scare you? Ha-ha…no I hope I didn't…"_

_Words seem to flow through the boys head too fast for him to put into words, so Sakuno smiles, breathing steadily. "No, no, I'm fine. I was just caught off guard, that's all." _

_She turns away from the boy, searching eagerly for Tomoka, only to see her hugging Ryoma tightly. Sakuno feels her heart sink, knowing that now, she will never have anything she will need to do just that. _

* * *

_Ann Tachibana checks her watch nervously. "I can walk you home." Kamio offers, but she does not pay attention. Ann is too focused on the hands of her analogue watch, as she follows their movements intensely and expressionlessly. "He's not coming…and it's a long walk, Ann. Let's just go. There was probably traffic." She swallows back sarcasm, and spit, throwing Kamio a nasty glance. _

"_No," She says firmly. "He'll be here. He said he would be here. So I intend to wait. You can go home if you want to, nothing's stopping you."_

"_You are." Kamio mumbles, but Ann chooses to not respond. This is supposed to be her day. Her step into the cold, empty world her brother left for her, and she had hoped that her brother would be there with her. But he is not. Maybe his car has broken down, or maybe he was held up, Ann wonders, only to tell herself that nothing can stop her brother unless he lets it. She surrenders to his absence, her shoulders sinking, as well as her wrist. _

"_He really didn't come," She breathes. "My own brother didn't come to my graduation." _

"_Don't hold it against him," Kamio warns. "I'm sure he feels awful. You know how much he loves you."_

_Ann swallows. She does know. She has known her whole life that her big, strong brother would give anything for her attention. She blames him for her lifelong mistake of thinking the same for all boys; but she moves on. Accepting reality easily and freely is something Ann has learned from herself, while she knows it is her brother's sole purpose to fight against it. She thinks that he lapses so long in his own world that he forgets about the people down below, stuck in their dead-end lives. He forgets to come out and lead the way back up to where his head is. Ann thinks she would gladly follow her brother anywhere._

"_I'm not mad." She turns to Kamio, a smile on her face. "But after that hospital bill, you'd think he would at least show up to apologize…right? You'd think he tears himself up over it—over my future. But apparently it's just easier to avoid it. As sad as that is, I can see it. So I don't blame him. But," She clears her throat dramatically, waving her arm around, "I am seriously a delicate human being, my brother does not realize."_

_Kamio sighs, leaning against the brick entranceway of the Fudomine High School. Ann wonders briefly if he has any attachment to the place. "Did my brother say anything to you?"_

"_I don't remember." He says, leaning his head back against the brick. "Probably, something like Don't you dare date my sister, or something of equal terror."_

"_Oh gosh…" Ann groans, "is that why boys are afraid to talk to me? Thanks a lot Kippei."_

"_Of course not," Kamio insists, grinning at her. "If your brother were the only thing standing between me and a date with you, I'd fight him. Literally."_

_Ann laughs, balancing on the sidewalk. "I think you missed your chance there buddy."_

"_Really?" He asks, slower and more thoughtful. "Because I was sorta planning on asking you out."_

"_Uh-uh." Ann says sharply. "None of that now. You're too good for me." She laughs, praying silently Kamio is not serious._

"_Yeah Ann." He says, looking at her carefully, pulling himself off the wall. "You really aren't fair. Not at all. You're really kind of selfish and inconsiderate. I mean, you've known about how I've felt for years, and I know it's partially my fault for not doing anything sooner, and I know you're clearly not interested, so…"_

"_Hey," Ann shrugged, "I have no money. I'm not going to a university, I won't get a good job, I sure as hell don't ever want to raise a family, my own brother doesn't see fit to come to my graduation. And yet you still like me. I'm flattered, Kamio. Really, really flattered." She spins around, partially drunk on curiosity and disappointment. She kisses him, lightly and badly; she feels him try to smile against her lips. "See?" She pulls away, but keeps her fingers in his coat pocket. "I'll tell you now, I've got nothing. Nothing at all." _


	4. Second Place

**As those who read this will notice, the story is taking a turn from cramming everyone into one chapter. That was a horrible, horrible mistake and I apologize for it. This next chapter is much, much shorter, and I think I prefer it that way. (It has taken a long time to get the structure of the story as a whole sorted, but I think I've got it.) I can say that the first three chapters kind of set up the present, the past, and the conflicts in both. Now it is time to go about with the actual story...ha-ha...yeah. **

**At least tell me why you hate it.

* * *

Lucky Ones

* * *

**Second Place

* * *

"Are you alright?"

Ann Tachibana jumped slightly, far too engrossed in the black surface of her coffee to make out the static of her brother's voice. She looked up, smiling weakly, "Sorry, sorry. I'm just really tired." She stretched her feet under the table, feeling the comforting warmth of her sweatpants against her bare feet. She took a sip of her coffee, bitter and hot against her tongue, she purred, "So tired."

"You work too hard." He did not drink coffee, preferred tea. "You should sleep more."

"I hate sleeping," Ann said as she stared mindlessly into her mug.

There was a long silence; Ann let it wash over her like a shower of relaxing jets of clear water, mingling in the rising white steam of the pungent coffee. "What _are_ you thinking about?" She met his gaze, curious and kind, and gave her brother a twisted smile.

"I saw Kirihara the other day."

She smiled through her brother's expressions, of confusion, of worry, of disgust. She watched him as he griped the table unconsciously tight, ground his teeth together and choked out a sigh. "Are you…" He began, and Ann almost shuttered when she realized he was going to ask her if she was _alright_. She laughed an empty laugh in frustrated disbelief.

"Really…" She groaned. "I wasn't attacked—don't give me that look." She straightened, forcing a glare out of her eyes. "See, I knew I couldn't tell you…"

"Ann," Her brother said calmly, as if her name would be sullied if it were in the same sentence as Kirihara's. "What did you think you were doing? That guy hurts people. He has no qualms about exercising his power over others. You _know_ that. Everyone _knows_ that. I can't believe you…"

"He knows it too." Ann said under her breath. At her brother's silence she continued, "He told me, that people don't change. He knows it, Kippei."

There was another silence. This time, Ann shrunk back into silent confusion.

"He doesn't scare me…" She mumbled. "He's got serious problems. Like—serious shit has happened to that guy. I can't even…"

"Don't try to help him, Ann." Her brother warned. "I'm being serious. Your choice in men is usually well thought-out. I usually approve of your vigor and judgment of character, but this is different." He pulled her cup of coffee out of her reach. "I don't want to give you a lecture, you're old enough to make your own decisions…just…the past. Don't try to come in and make him a better person. There is nothing in him, Ann."

Ann leaned back in her chair, fully awake, laughing, "Hey, did you hear, I'm dating Momoshiro?"

Before her brother could respond with anything more than a knowing smile, the phone rang.

Ann leapt up, suddenly eager for adventure, and leaned over the counter, cluttered with containers of spices and boxes of plastic utensils, to grab the phone. Before she could properly greet the person on the other line, a familiar voice crackled over it, "Ann? Is Ann there? I need to speak with her please! This is urgent!"

"Tomoka?" Ann asked. "It's me, are you okay?"

Ann did not have many female friends. It was not as though most girls disliked her, or she them, she had just grown apart from them. Having grown up around her older brother's friends, she found an affinity for boys at an early age. Once she started getting girlfriends, Ann had been overjoyed, as had her brother's friends. But in recent months, Ann had drifted away, building up some wall of her own free will, trying her best to isolate herself from competition. It was not until Tomoka forced herself back into Ann's life, dragging Sakuno along as well. And Ann welcomed it, stupidly glad someone wanted to be her friend.

"Of course! I am always okay!" Tomoka shouted through the phone. "Are you busy? Like right now? Sakuno and I are going out to eat lunch and we wanted you to come with us! It's kinda been a while, you now, and we miss you. We need some girl-time, don't you think? Can you make it?"

"Right now?" Ann looked quizzically at her brother for a moment before sighing into the phone, "Yeah, I'm not busy." She scowled playfully at him. "Where were you thinking of going?"

Her brother rubbed his forehead as Ann pulled on her coat and chugged her coffee. "Do you plan to leave the house like _that_?"

Ann looked at her sweatpants and t-shirt, as she straightened her corduroy jacket. "Yes. Yes I do." She balanced her feet, one by one on the radiator as she tied them in comfortable black converse.

"About what you said before," Her brother began, making strong eye contact. "Congratulations."

Ann stood poised in victory for a moment, trying to dig money out of a drawer. She pressed her tongue into the inside of her cheeck and nodded, "Thanks." Then she was out the door, without missing a beat.

Although Ann had never been to the restaurant before, she recognized the area. It was within easy walking distance from Seigaku, so she had to take the subway; however now she was calm, the subway stations did not scare her, or make her feel trapped and suffocated anymore. She stood firmly, held her chin high and wore a face of promising politeness.

The air was warm, she probably did not need her jacket. Checking her watch, Ann made her way through the city, gently passing by people, until she saw what Tomoka had described to be the restaurant. It is surprisingly large, a colorful eyesore against the shorter, cultural places that surround it. The windows reach high, while the light yellow walls reflected and absorbed the sun well. The doors were elegant, or cheaply supplied with gloss for the creamy wood, and Ann pushed them open with a newfound respect for herself.

The inside of the building was far more interesting than the outside. Ann tried not to judge the yellow and brown walls, but she could not help but laugh at the framed pressed flowers that hung along them. She kept her eyes to the shiny gray-tiled floor, and looked around for Tomoka. The building itself was not completely devoted to being a restaurant, and Ann shortly realized that Tomoka had done it complete justice. On the far opposite wall, Ann could see a long counter of food, mostly deserts. But to the left, she could see a maze antiquated gift shops; to the right, was a collection of tables and chairs and comfortable brown-leather booths designed to hide the kitchen behind them. A surprising number of people circulated the building, and Ann felt a bit out of place.

She scanned the seats, looking a bit too eagerly for Tomoka. But a moment before hopelessness set in, she saw a familiar pair of braids. Ann breathed a sigh of relief at the quiet sight of Sakuno, sitting by herself in a lonely, yet picturesque style. Trotting over, Ann waved cheerfully. "Hey you," She grinned. "It's been a while."

Sakuno's eyes smiled, even if her lips were a bit slow. Her face always looked a bit sad, so Ann decided to try to contort hers enough for the both of them. She could not help but stare a bit at Sakuno's dress, feeling slightly unnerved at how well the younger girl managed to pull off even the most poorly-cut sundresses. "Please sit down," Sakuno said, finally smiling. "Tomo is always late, sorry." She sighed, "And here she told me she was coming _early_."

Ann smiled, "No, no it's cool." She sat gingerly to Sakuno's left, instantly relaxing into the padded chairs and trying to use the glittery tablecloth to cover her less-fancy clothes.

If there was any awkwardness on Sakuno's side, Ann did not see any of it. She smiled to herself at Sakuno's growth in self-confidence. Sakuno appeared terrified of silences, so she started to chatter rather mindlessly; Ann was a master at mindless chatter, so she did not find it surprising that the two of them could carry a conversation easily.

After about ten minutes of Sakuno tiredly looking at her watch, a whirlwind of energy burst into the building. "Here she is," Sakuno smiled.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" Tomoka gasped. She flung herself into the empty chair next to Sakuno, out of breath. She looked nice, Ann thought. Tomoka had never grown out of her pigtails, but she somehow managed to pull them off with only jeans, a t-shirt and a thin scarf. "On my way here," She said, talking mostly with her hands, "I saw this guy getting mugged! These thugs came out of nowhere!"

"Tomo…" Sakuno sighed. "Just tell us you lost your phone or something…"

Ann laughed.

"Well let's eat something! Are you hungry Ann?"

"Always."

Tomoka had no problem asking for attention. Ann watched Sakuno, as Sakuno watched Tomoka easily call over a waiter. The girl who stomped over is a sour-looking American girl with a double-jointed gate and an impossibly short skirt.

"What would you like?" She asked in flat English.

Sakuno looked slightly confused, and Tomoka scowled a bit, but they seemed to recover, ordering sandwiches. Ann realized that the two of them had been here before, and that she had no idea what to order. One look at their waitress told her that she had to choose something quickly. Taking a glance at the menu, Ann decided to order the first salad she saw.

The waitress rolled her eyes, gnawing on her glossed lips as she scribbled carelessly into her pad of paper. She dropped a pitcher of water on the table, "Your food will be along shortly," and then turned away, with a proud strength in her shoulders and fluid sway in her arms.

"Bad attitude…"Tomoka muttered in English.

"So," Ann said, changing the tone, "Any gossip?"

Tomoka's face lit up, "I thought you'd never ask!" She leaned in, moving her lips carefully around every word, "There's this girl in my class, and the other day she was telling everyone that she slept with that one guy from Rikkaidai—"

"Who?" Ann asked, a little too loudly, an anxiety boiling in her stomach.

"Tomo!" Sakuno hissed. "Don't say things like that! You shouldn't be spreading that around…you don't even know if it's true…they could be dating, or something."

"Mm…I don't know," Tomoka shrugged. "Maybe Niou?"

"You know them by name?" Sakuno asked, suddenly.

"Seiichi told me." Tomoka looked over her shoulder. "I think that waitress should come back…"

"Now you're on a first name basis?" Sakuno demanded, her face looked a little too concerned for Ann, who was holding back laughter.

"You're on a first name-basis with Seiichi Yukimura?" She grinned. "That's one hell of a trophy."

Tomoka blushed, waving her hand in front of her face, "No, it's no big deal, not important, no. We're not dating, no. Geez Sakuno, don't look at me like that. It's not a big deal."

Sakuno seemed to relax in her seat, but Ann kept smiling. "Congratulations."

"So what about you, Ann?" Tomoka asked, batting her eyelashes dramatically. "Did you and Kamio ever hook up?"

Ann wrinkled her nose. "Not really. I'm sort with Momoshiro right now though…" She could not help but grin. "Yeah…it's going pretty well."

Ann watched the two girls smile, and the anxious feeling in her stomach completely dissipated. She felt a warm hubris gathering in its place. It was then that the waitress came back; she looked much angrier and empowered and carried three plates with surprising ease. "Anything else?" She asked.

Before she could say _no_, and _thank_ _you_, Ann was beaten to a punch. "What do you think of men?" Tomoka asked in careful English in between a coy smile and a disapproving scowl from Sakuno.

The waitress shrugged, "Everything." She turned her head to the left lightly. "Yeah. Yeah, everything. I take it you don't need anything else?"

"No, no, thank you." Sakuno insisted in slow English. When the waitress left, she turned to Tomoka. "What was that about?"

"Oh nothing," Tomoka sighed. "Just trying to make a new friend."

Ann watched as Sakuno seemed to take the statement as an insult and decided to speak up. "Sakuno," She bit into her salad, "anyone special?" She ate around a forkful of green, trying to sound unbiased. Everyone knew the younger girl had liked Ryoma. Ann just wanted to give her a chance to talk about it.

The question seemed to catch Sakuno off guard, and made Tomoka rolled her eyes. Ann wished she had not asked it. She watched Sakuno smile weakly as she situated her sandwich comfortably in the middle of her plate. "No." She said. "I don't…"

Ann would have dropped it, but Tomoka obviously did not feel the same. "You should ask that one guy out…with the glasses in your class. Get on the bandwagon with us. It's a fun ride." She ate her sandwich loudly, laughing through it. "Today's the day, you could meet your soul mate. Or just someone to hook up with."

"Tomoka!" Sakuno cried, fighting a losing battle with the neatness of her white plate. "I'm really not…bothered or anything." Ann saw the girl's cheeks flush. "We don't have to talk about this…"

"Sakuno," Tomoka said firmly, "that's not an attitude to have."

Ann sat quietly as the two of them went back and forth: Tomoka insisting that a guy would be healthy for her, and Sakuno avoiding the accusation with her napkin. It did not seem like her place to give advice or pass any kind of judgment. So she did it internally. She wondered about Sakuno and Ryoma, about what happens when one indecisive person and one oblivious person do not get together. She thought about opposite people, about being too afraid of rejection, about being too confident. Ann wondered to herself whether she was too shy. But then told herself that there was never an instance of her being shy. She knew herself to be too misleading, if anything.

"At least I don't play with people's feelings."

There was a silence. Ann stared hard at her fork, pierced through a particularly small piece of chicken.

"Touché." Tomoka sighed, and Ann slowly looked up at her, more focused on the twirling the girl's straw around her glass of water than the sad face. "It's kind of weird, actually. The sick tendency girls have to manipulate people. Girls are seriously awful, you know? It feels kinda good to know that someone loses sleep over you, or that you have enough power to make them feel horrible for a day, and then make it better."Ann let her make eye contact, but tried to look indifferent. "I'm really glad, Sakuno, that you're not like that."

Ann Tachibana sat by herself, in a swing that was clearly made for a larger child, in an empty playground. She dug her shoes into the golden sand while at the same time stuffing her fingers through the metal chains that suspended her. She felt completely grounded in place, alone and lonely. She stared unappealingly at her cell phone, resting easily in her lap. She glared at the message, in friendly characters, pretending to not insinuate anything, or bring about guilt. "Hello Momoshiro," She said to her phone. "It's four o'clock, and I should be getting home now, but I really don't want to. Me? Oh, I'm busy doing some soul-searching at a playground. No, no, that's not creepy. God, you're so awesome."

The phone stared back, silent and glowing. But it was too late now, so Ann pulled her fingers from the metal, taking her phone and responding to the message. Momoshiro was bored, so he had decided to meet her at this playground. Ann was skeptical, but he had promised to bring food, and she was hungry again.

"Salad is not a meal." She said.

Her time with Tomoka and Sakuno had been insightful, albeit awkward. And Ann had realized that even though there was an unmistakable crevasse between them and herself, Tomoka seemed determined to cross it with a makeshift bridge, and she would drag Sakuno behind her. It was almost a good feeling, and Ann would have put more effort into helping them, if she was not so preoccupied with other, more demanding, slightly more important, selfish dilemmas. Tomoka and Yukimura seemed highly unlikely, but if so, Ann had a deluded connection to the separated Rikkaidai tennis team. She pressed her forehead into the chain links. She thought about Kirihara again, then drifted to her brother, and his careful judgment and dutiful negligence. Then she thought about Sakuno, vulnerable to any kind of love, and terrified of any offence. Ann felt the truth of what Tomoka admitted burn true in her heart. She thought about how thrilling it would be to be able to control Kirihara. "Now _that_ would be one hell of a trophy."

"Hey. You look super-depressed right now."

Ann looked up, into Momoshiro's brilliant eyes, and smiled.

"That sandwich you have doesn't."He handed the sandwich to her, and Ann gladly accepted it. Momoshiro sat on the swing next to her, letting out a groan. "These swings are huge," Ann said. "Whose child is this big?"

He laughed, "Maybe it was an accident."

Ann dug into her sandwich, "God I love substantial calories," she said. "Hey, have you seen Ryoma recently?" She stole a glance at Momoshiro. "I'd like to see him, you know?"

She watched Momoshiro's face grow so nostalgic that she almost felt sad. "I dunno. He's probably still rocking Seigaku. We should go pull him out of class or something. God I miss that kid. I don't think he feels the same way, but he's totally my best friend. I wonder how he's doing…I wonder if he's gonna take us to Nationals…"

The more Ann watched him, the closer she thought she might get to love. A playful sense of adventure lingered in his voice; it hid behind expressive eyes and an oblivious confidence. "Hey," Ann said, setting the sandwich in her lap, letting the heat fill her face, "I like you. Let's see Ryoma sometime. We can, like, ambush him after practice or something. I have things to discuss with him."

"Oh?" Momoshiro raised his eyebrows. "What could that mean?"

"I had lunch with Tomoka and Sakuno today, it was really great catching up—"

"Ah! I remember them…that one was a little weird, ha-ha, but the shy one wasn't bad…Are you…"

"Probably." Ann said firmly. "Everyone knows she likes Ryoma, right?"

"Everyone."

"Except him?"

"Except him."

"Good. We're gonna do this." Ann nodded, assuring herself. "We're gonna get Sakuno an answer."

Momoshiro looked a bit skeptical, but Ann tried to grin it away. "I can't guarantee it will be the answer she wants." He pushed himself closer, so close Ann could smell him. He smelled like warm bread and tomatoes. The links on their swings hit gently, as Ann felt him brush his lips against hers.

But he let his leg go limp, and he swung back.

"Gotcha."

Ann turned away, flushed and stuttering. "I think I've changed my mind."

Momoshiro stood, "About what?" His whole body seemed to sway, and Ann became acutely aware of the setting sun. "Surely you're not referring to me?" He stood before her, "Are you?" He bent over, placing his hands on hers, resting at the junction of metal and rubber. "Geez Tachibana, you should have told me sooner."

Ann saw that he had to bend down quite a bit, and she tried not to imagine the strain on his back as she stretched her neck upwards, making light contact with his lips. She hummed against him for a moment before taking his mouth with hers. Without hands, it was awkward for a moment, but she fumbled around for a comfortable position. Gently prodding at his lips with her tongue, Ann felt a new level of elevation. The gold rush in her veins was astounding, her heart rate accelerated with a bizarre twinge of daring strategy. She wondered briefly how she could have ever gone years without this. Taking action, Ann pulled her hands out from under Momoshiro's grabbing his face with a fierce tenacity that impressed even her, plunging forward. She felt him groan against her, running his hands down her sides slowly.

She felt him drag his tongue along her inner cheek. Pushing harder against him, Ann felt her insides squirm with delight. "We should find another place…"

Out of the corner of her foggy eye, Ann saw strange human-like shapes. Hurriedly, she fisted her hand into Momoshiro's shirt. A new kind of adrenaline pumped through her body. She swallowed. Three shapes.

"H-Hey." She jumped from the swing, wincing as the sandwich hit the sand, and forcing Momoshiro around.

There were three people, two lumbering towards them tiredly while the other looked rather terrified. Ann felt the fear drain from Momoshiro in a second. The three men were not particularly tall, or buff, merely shaggy and looking disappointed, as though they were the ones expecting more. They stepped before them, disjointed and separated, exchanging a few worried looks with one another.

The one who reached five feet away first had an unfortunately cut beard, baggy clothes and what appeared to be an ungrateful disposition. "Your wallet," He said, holding out his hand.

Ann noticed the other two, the one that looked the most dangerous also had the most disturbing nose she had ever seen. The smallest one, seemingly uncoordinated and afraid, nodded in agreement with the first. They were dressed in similar clothes with hands firmly planted in their pockets.

"This really isn't how I pictured this moment." She said.

"Are you guys really trying to mug us?" Momoshiro asked. "Really? It's not a good time guys…" It was not troubling how calm he was, because Ann felt a surprising looseness in her limbs as well. She almost felt like laughing.

"Do you have any money?" She asked Momoshiro. "Because I don't. I spent it all on lunch…"

"Are you kidding?" Momoshiro asked, totally ignoring the three offenders. "I never carry money with me…"

Ann turned the three men, "Well, this is embarrassing."

They seemed slightly confused, as thought this might have been their first mugging. There was much foot-shuffling and whispers. Their muscle movements turned jerky and confused, and an awkward silence gathered in the air.

"Why don't we just forget about this whole thing?" Momoshiro asked. "I'd really appreciate it if I didn't get my ass handed to me in front of my girlfriend…I'd gladly give you money, but I honestly don't have any. Sorry."

They all stood in place for an awkward few seconds before the small one took a deep breath, whirled around and ran. He was disarmingly fast, short legs beating the grownd like a small horse. Ann sent a quizzical look at the others, who seemed to shrug at each other before turning and running as well, slightly more unorthodox but less frantic. She turned slowly to Momoshiro, confused, before she watched him break out into hysterical laughter. "That is not funny." She said firmly. "We could have _died_."

Momoshiro fell back into the swing, nearly crying. "Oh…ha-ha…wow…I've never, never…oh man…"

Ann ginned, covering her mouth as she laughed. "I can't believe that happened to us! My god…I can't wait to share that one…I can't believe it!" Quietly, Ann really told herself that while the concept of being mugged was no stranger, the absence of fear was a new feeling to her. She'd heard girls around her, gush about having a strong boyfriend protect, them, and Ann had laughed. There was a completely human aspect to everything Momoshiro did, he was completely realistic in what might have been a terrifying situation. It was not the kind of bold respect her brother commanded, but Momoshiro had this strange aura that Ann thought, in all honestly, made people like him. It fascinated her.

"I think we're pretty awesome." Momoshiro said, grinning up at her. "Thanks for keeping your cool. I really don't know what I would have done if they'd attacked us."

"_You_ have no idea!" Ann cried. "I was _so_ scared!" She pursed her lips, "Until I saw that one guy's nose…ugh…that's so horrible. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Momoshiro sat up. "It'll get dark soon, and I think we've had enough excitement for one day…I'll walk you home."

"We live in completely different directions," Ann added.

"I'll do it anyway." Momoshiro said, prodding her shoulder gently. "Because if you get mugged on your way home, I will feel awful. First," He paused, "I might laugh, but then, assured you were alight, I would feel awful. So awful."

"You're awful." Ann sighed.

The two began walking, after Ann said a sad _goodbye_ to the sandwich, buried in the sand; Momoshiro said a few kind words in its honor. The sky was steadily growing darker, but the lights of the city kept it at bay, glowing and flashing fiercely as people continued to bustle about. At this point, nothing frightened Ann. Not the shadows in the subway station, not the old man who sang to himself behind them. They were chatting easily on the subway, it was more crowded then it was normally, but Ann tried her best to keep her undivided attention on Momoshiro, who was expressively dictating an exciting conversation he had with Kaidoh.

Before Ann could ask about how Kaidoh was doing, the dizzying bustle of the subway car and a new exhaustion in her limbs sank in. She pushed herself closer into the seat cushion, letting the weight of the day drag her father down; if her eyes fluttered shut, Momoshiro took no notice. Ann tried her best to engage in the conversation, she tried sitting up, crossing her legs, tugging on the ends of her hair eagerly, but to no avail. She had not been this tired in a long time. The previous hours seemed foreign, as though she had watched them in a movie, as though the feelings she had engraved into her mind belonged to someone else, as though she was too weak to accept them herself. She felt herself mumble responses half-heartedly, letting her head fall gently on Momoshiro's shoulder.

When she heard the dull, electronic voice over the intercom relaying the name of her stop, Ann nearly jumped from the seat. The car rocked to a stop, and Momoshiro got up, gingerly taking her arm, "Come on you," he laughed. He led her around the metal poles, and Ann tasted familiar clogged air before she stole one dreary glance around the subway.

She saw the other tired people, some coaxing children into quiet, a few laughing teenagers and strict suits. Somehow the faces are both expressive and lifeless in the artificial light, a busy collection of moving parts, each different from another, yet all sharing a group sympathy. In the corner of the car, she saw a mess of black hair against the window, a skeletal posture, and piercing green eyes.

She stopped breathing.

And then it was over. Her heart beat against her rib cage, as if it were trying to escape. She felt an embarrassed fear in her spine, a nervous pulsation in her fingers as she stepped into the platform. "M-Momoshiro…"

She felt an ache in her chest as she watched the doors close behind a bespectacled woman. "Are you alright?" Momoshiro asked, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. "Wow you must be really tired…"

Ann felt her eyes burn, but she tried to keep them open. Everything seemed slightly surreal around her, making her wonder if she had really seen the figure at all. The walk home was slow, Ann found herself staring intently at the most random angles and curves, not wanting to pay attention to anything too important, lest she read too much into it. Momoshiro made small talk, being the bottomless pit of energy and motivation that he was, but Ann could not listen. And it was not until he kissed her _goodbye_ at her doorstep that she felt his absence on her shoulder. "Oh…" She mumbled at him. "I'd say, _thanks for tonight_, but you know…it was kind of horrible." She laughed. "I don't ever want to get almost-mugged again."

Momoshiro laughed, kissing her again. "Can I make it up to you? Next time we can go somewhere…without sandwiches. Maybe, something," He paused, a blush creeping across his face, "something fancier."

Ann sighed, almost too tired, to smile. "Of course. Call me," She said, patting his shoulder. She pushed Momoshiro down her steps before pulling her key out of her bra with pride, and walking into the house.

The familiar scent was welcoming. Her shoulders relaxed instantly as she kicked off her shoes. The house was dark, shadowy and pleasantly warm. She stared up at the staircase, basking in the silence. She waited in the doorway for any sign of movement. She moved through the house silently, stepping into the kitchen and half-expecting her brother to be there where she had left him. But he was not, so Ann trudged back down the hall and crawled up the stairs. Ann looked around her room, more comforted and confused than she had ever been. She flung herself onto her bed, groaning into the blanket, and swearing.


	5. The Rabbit Hole

**Well...this certainly took a long time. For a while, I had sorta forgotten about it, but once I started writing this chapter, it got increasingly harder to determine where it was going. Needless to say, it did not turn out the way I thought it was going to. Sorry that it took so long for the story to pick up, but this chapter is where it really does. Anyway, thanks so everyone who has reviewed already! Being selfish, I would love more criticism, if anyone has the time. **

**I don't own anything.  
**

* * *

**Lucky Ones

* * *

**The Rabbit Hole

* * *

Ann Tachibana flexed her fingers in the lull after a rapid series of mechanical motions. She stared down her empty checkout line, sighing. In her brief moment of relaxation, she pressed her palms into the cool metal that surrounded her like a cheap cage, trying to suppress the tension from her shoulder blades and swallow down the sour taste in her mouth. Ann straightened, adjusting her flashy blue polo shirt that not only clashed with her hair, but was also two sizes too large; the experience was something akin to wearing jeans under a dress that would only be allowed if one was colorblind. Ann could swear that every customer that passed through trailed their eyes, wondering if they were in fact seeing the right hues. In an act of retaliation, Ann pulled a packet of gum from her pocket, deciding to chomp loudly at anyone who stared at her for longer than five seconds. The bitter-good sensation of strong mint washed away the foul taste of leftover toothpaste.

She bounced around on her toes, squeaking into the floor with a cutting-edge balance routine. Blinking out the bright lights above and all around her, Ann continued her calming ritual; she continued to breathe in the scent of her gum, lock and unlock her knees, close her eyes in a systematic rhythm and roll her wrists in the clammy air. The grocery store was usually a bit too cold for her liking, but the radiators were broken, courtesy of a group of angry teenagers who thought it humorous to spray graffiti through the central machine in an attempt to waft chemicals throughout the entire store. As grateful as Ann was for the increase in warmth, she did not dare to vocalize it, due to the fact that the teenagers were now a very wanted group of individuals.

There was a rather diminished flow of customers today, Ann noted. She worked with an agonizing consistency, whenever three or so people crammed into her line, but now she basked in the stillness of her arms, letting the muscles calm themselves. She was not jealous of the other lives that together, dwarfed hers, merely content to boost herself up off others' misfortunes or learn from their victories. She was taking pride in her own accomplishments, and her blue polo shirt and tight jeans were worn with a high, selfish pride mostly attributed to the fact that she was the second-youngest person who worked at the grocery store. She enjoyed the simple work, the steady pay, the occasional flirty customer that tried to make a lasting impression.

Ann was not one to feel guilt. At least, she told herself, not the way most other people do. It was not all-consuming, or nagging. She flirted shamelessly under the impression that she would never see any of those people again; she would let their words boost her ego and make her smile. Ann knew she was far too selfish to worry about hurting Momoshiro, and she told herself that he would not care. Her thoughts drifted to the cute boy who stocked shelves, wandering around a distorted memory. She could not place the boy, but knew she had seen him somewhere before.

Ann was so submerged in herself that she almost did not hear the sound of a heavy thump of a cereal box against the slowly moving track. She jumped, looking up expectantly for some kind of confirmation. "Hey," She said, then after a dull moment of silence, "Hyotei." She recognized the sharp face, bristled brown hair of Shishido.

The young man glared down at her twitching his lip around his teeth as though the moment were some foul food at the end of a toothpick situated under his tongue. "I don't know you." He said.

"Kippei's little sister." Ann said flatly. "From Fudomine. My brother literally handed you your ass back—"

"Oh." Shishido rolled his eyes and bounced his eyebrows, awkwardly situating his hips. "Sort of. I sort of remember you."

Ann grabbed the box of cereal, it was disturbingly healthy. She glanced at it for a few seconds too long before running the bar-code. "Whole grain," She murmured dumbly.

"It's not for me." Shishido said quickly enough for Ann to raise her eyebrows and smile. Something about the young man's secretive shrug was amusing. He had an air of arrogance about him that Ann familiarized with and enjoyed.

As Shishido handed Ann the money, she could not help but notice bags under his dark eyes. She forgot for a moment, how far apart they are, and almost tried to make a joke before cutting herself off and leaving her mouth open awkwardly. "About Nationals…"

"My change." Shishido said, holding out his hand, expectantly.

"Right…" Ann turned to open the cash register, plucking out a few coins and handed them over carefully. She felt the urge to say something, as if the connection that the two of them had with tennis should suffice as a reason Shishido would want to be friends with her.

"What are you looking at?" He asked with an annoyed edge to his voice.

"I was trying to read your shirt." Ann said dumbly, recognizing a few of the largely-printed Chinese characters.

"Whatever." He groaned, stuffing the change into his pocket and grabbing the cereal and taking a plastic bag off the end of her station himself before shrugging away.

Ann pouted, already missing his angry human contact, but settling for a longing gaze at his lower back as he exited the store though automatic doors.

She sighed, fidgeting with the keyboard. There was a part of her that longed to be back in the tennis syndicate, to fall back on old favors and shared moments. Her school was her connection to what became the Fudomine tennis team while her brother was her connection to the players themselves. Everyone knew her brother. She could remember days of her youth spent at Shitenhoji, playing tennis on their homegrown courts and watching the sun travel low behind the mountains. She had spent time with the Seigaku's former regulars more recently. She had some of their numbers in her cell phone's contact list, and she has shared chopsticks with more than half of them. But Ann felt like an outsider without Momoshiro by her side, as if she was not connected to any one else if he was not there with her. And that feeling was like a steady burn, melting its way through her stomach.

Although she hated to admit it, Ann knew she had grown into a sense of learned helplessness. Given proper means, she could make the best of any situation, branching out in different directions, adapting. But she needed a place to start from, a friend or connection to hold her in place until she found her own feet. She hated it. She was supposed to make her own choices, crave her own path. Ann wiped her hand along her forehead, pulling at her hair gently. "Shit," She muttered.

"Do you want me to help you bag groceries?"

Ann looked up, abruptly pulled from her thoughts. "Sorry?" She turned to the boy who had crept up beside her. "What?" Glancing at his name tag carefully she smiled, "Dan? Oh, right, yeah, I guess I might…"

The boy had a strange light about him, an eager kind determination that Ann could not help but take advantage of. Being the two youngest employees, Ann felt as though the two of them had some kind of bond, and had gone far out of her way to become friends with him. It had not been difficult, as the boy seemed to try his best to become friends with anyone. He made Ann feel relaxed, as if they were in fact in the center of an eccentric garden, full of mysteries and romances hidden amongst leaves and flowers instead of the cold isles and waxy floors of a grocery store. One thing Ann had learned about Dan was that he never really stopped talking. This had lead to the acquiring of much useless knowledge of the boy's personal life, not that Ann cared. In return, she had shared her feelings as well, and found that the boy was an exceptionally good listener. The two of them worked well together, talking easily and openly.

A few people came by, no one Ann knew, so she mostly just watched Dan text discreetly. Ann felt a quiet curiosity, but did not ask about it. She noticed Dan's subtle smile, his bright eyes, and suddenly, "It's Akutsu."

Ann knew that name. She remembered that name trying to tear Ryoma apart on the courts; she remembered an unbridled violence. "Oh," She said. "I didn't mean to…"

Dan laughed, resting his elbows against a stray grocery cart. "He doesn't really know how to use a cell phone…ha-ha, he's just complaining to me."

Ann liked to think that Dan wanted to talk to her about Akutsu some more, so she tried to look interested; she raised her eyebrows and smiled with the corners of her lips. "Kids half our age use cell phones…"

"Akutsu thinks he _is_ half our age," Dan laughs. "Do you remember him much?"

"N-Not really," Ann confessed. "I remember his match with Ryoma…" She tried to trail off in case Dan did not want to remember that match, but he seemed even more eager.

He seemed to think hard about his next words, Ann wondered if Dan thought she was going to leave. "Don't remember him for that."

Ann nodded, "Sure."

Dan suddenly looked embarrassed. He rubbed his eye with the backs of his fingers gingerly, "That's stupid…you don't have to…I didn't mean…"

Ann shrugged, "If _Dan _says it, it must be true."

Before Dan could say anything, two people approached the counter. Ann recognized their faces immediately. The stern, constantly vigilant eyes of Tezuka, led by a comfortable, relaxed Fuji passed through the line. The two seemed perfectly opposite, which, Ann noted, made them somehow similar. It was odd, seeing them both in casual clothes, and without a tennis racket.

"What a surprise." Fuji said, without an ounce of surprise in his voice. "Ann, I didn't expect to see you here." He was startlingly cool, as he seemed to be in any situation, casually adjusting himself according to the working pieces already in play. "You look…" His eyebrows danced, "at ease." He placed a bag of cotton balls on the slow track, along with a bag of oranges.

Ann smiled, "That's charming, Fuji. It's nice to see you too."

"How is your brother?" He asked, but continued without waiting for a response, "We talked the other day, over email. It seems his tennis career is rather astounding. It's nice to see that he has made a full recovery. It's that just, remarkable news Kunimitsu?" He turned to look at the taller man, who, up until then appeared to be content to stare at the back of Fuji's neck.

"I am relieved." Tezuka said firmly. Then, as an afterthought he added, "As I'm sure you are." He looked slightly embarrassed, as though he had been relying on Fuji to articulate his words for him.

Ann took the package of cotton balls carefully, afraid to crush them, and passed the bar-code over the bright red light. "What have you two been up to lately?" She asked, pausing. She assumed that whatever the two were in fact up to, they were up to it together. It was not a knowing, more of a subtle premonition, Ann had, about Fuji and Tezuka. As if they were so simple, so _right_ in each other's hands that there could never be any disillusionment. Ann smiled as she realized that she wanted nothing of the sort.

"I've been studying," Fuji said. "Reading dictionaries, cutting cheese into little tiny pieces…" A grin crossed over his face, "Kunimitsu's been around."

Ann watched Tezuka stiffen as she handed the bag of cotton to Dan. "I see." She grabbed the oranges. "How's the tennis?"

Fuji shrugged. "It's hard to find the time…"

"You're picture is on one of the magazines on the rack over there," Ann waved, running the oranges' bar-code. "I can see you're very busy." She threw him a small smile.

"So busy," Fuji agreed.

"Let's go." Tezuka muttered.

Dan had bagged the groceries carefully before handing them to an all too eager Tezuka. "What about Seigaku's former captain?" He asked. "Have you played any great players recently?"

"Yes," Was all Tezuka said before turning on his heels and huffing off.

"Please excuse us," Fuji said with a serene, yet somehow excited smile as he trailed after Tezuka.

Ann watched their heads bobbing through the aisles and shelves, wondering how they managed to find each other. Momoshiro told her months ago that Tezuka and Fuji were going to a university together; she had smiled, letting an _I knew it_ slide past her lips. She stood for a moment, poised and barely breathing, as she felt a pang of jealousy in her stomach at their ability to choose between different universities. "I like that one." She turned to Dan, nodding her head in Tezuka's and Fuji's direction, hoping the boy would understand which one she was talking about.

"Can I ask you something?" Dan said, leaning against the old metal structure they worked upon.

Ann awoke from her simple trance. "O-Of course."

"When I see people like them," Dan said slowly, "I sorta wish that I was a cooler person." He shrugged. "I'm so used to being around the most awesome, inspiring people, that when I realize that I'm alone, I feel so foolish."

"What brought that on?" Ann asked, unsure of how to respond. She laid her own elbows on the rubber track , frozen in place.

"My boyfriend…" Dan said under his breath. "He is far too good for me."

Ann rubbed her left temple with her fingers gently. "I know the feeling."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not ungrateful, or trying to be egotistical. I just don't…believe him." He sighed into his arms. "I know I love him. I love the little things and the big things. I love spending time with him and…you know…But, my data tells me that it just doesn't make sense. Like, it might be that stuff from romance movies, that impossibility of opposites attracting somehow," Dan rubbed his hair tiredly. "But I can't shake it. I never really could. Every time I see him, I'm reminded of how much I suck."

Ann laughed bitterly; she almost apologized to Dan, but the look in his eyes told her that it was not necessary. "Is that why you work here? To get away from it?"

"No." Dan said firmly. "We could really use some money…you know. Kiyosumi isn't going to a university just so we can have an apartment. I need to chip in. It's just common sense…"

Ann noticed that Dan could be unintentionally critical. Usually only to himself, but more recently, more openly. Ann wondered if the young man was going through more stress than he was letting on. "I get it," She said. "I mean, I don't know how expensive all that stuff is…but I get it." If Dan did not believe her, he did not let on, because Ann just shrugged and the two stood in a moment of silence.

"Your shift is over in two minutes," He said slowly.

Sighing, Ann shot a glance around the store before shutting off her counter light. "It's been fun," She said. Ann trotted dully into the bathroom after waving a lazy _goodbye_ and ducking off into the employee bag room to grab her small messenger bag packed with normal clothes. Once in front of the mirror, she sighed again at her reflection. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, allowing her to part her hair down the middle around boring cheek bones. Ann ran a finger through that hair; it had changed a bit. There was a shape to it now, a silky orb around her shoulders, Ann brushed away her bangs in mild disgust. She was average, in the true sense of the word, only pretty when she was not smiling. She stared hard at her eyebrows, at her ruddy skin and her chapped lips. Admitting defeat, Ann's eyes fell to her hands. She saw, upon close inspection, small white lines criss-crossing across her palms. She felt a warmth in them that was not coming from the hot water spilling down the drain. She felt a kick of adrenaline when she thought about riding the subway home.

Ann dove into a bathroom stall, pulling off her uniform and tugging a sweatshirt over her head; Ann hated zippers, and had a large quantity of sweatshirts that did not contain any. She realized, after she had buttoned her jeans, that the sweatshirt was too small, and it rode up almost pleasantly, showing off her hip bones when she raised her arms. Ann thought the green stripes against the bright white made her hair pop, and as she looked herself down, facing the toilet, she tried to swallow back everything she assumed about herself. She felt a sociopolitical desire to flush her paycheck down the toilet and run away. Ann wanted to take a taxi to the edge of Japan. She thought about Europe, she thought about Canada, or Australia, of course she did not have enough money to run away to them, to start a new life. She thought about mastering a new language, about sitting on the floor of a newly purchased apartment, about going to a university online, and mostly, she thought about the money she did not have. It was not until the automatic toilet had flushed that she remembered Momoshiro.

It was obvious that she could not take him with her. He was too grounded to Japanese soil, too fond of his future to be uprooted in her fantasy. He had a family that he wanted to stay close to, he had friends, he was on his way to a tennis career. He had obligations and wishes and other bonds that would keep him in this country. Maybe, in a more metaphorical sense, he would stay exactly where he was, maybe only jump higher. At this point, Ann knew that she would never learn anything new about Momoshiro. And if she were not so restless, staring hard into the water rushing down the toilet, she would have been alright with that. She would be alright with _someplace_, it might not have to be any place in particular. But grounding suddenly did not seem to be what Ann wanted. She was bored. Achingly, embarrassingly, predictably bored. She had struck a dead end after only a short while, and Ann wondered if it radiated off her like a fog. She wondered if that was why boys avoided her, if they could sense her inability to attach herself to something for a long period of time. She wondered if her girlfriends drifted away because Ann stopped caring about their problems.

Ann told herself, as she stared down into the toilet, as she watched the water flood back up, that she was a terrible friend. She put her own needs before those of others, it was no secret. There was no epiphany, nothing she had not known or lived with for years. Most other people were too good for her. She pushed the stall door open again and made her way to the sink. It was a simple, soapy truth Ann had known for a long time, however, it was one she rarely contemplated as she scrubbed her fingers into the sink. She had no interest in people who were better than her. Their superiority was boring, and Ann had known since she was ten years old that she preferred people who where meaner than herself. That did not make it any easier to walk out the automatic doors into the cold air. The warm breezes would be dissipating soon, as the sun turned.

Ann felt herself shiver as she checked her watch. It was a little past noon. She stood outside the grocery store dumbly for a bit, chewing her gum slowly before spitting it out onto the sidewalk. A man passing by frowned at her before brushing his disgust off and walking through the automatic doors. She could do some shopping, eat something, or go home. Ann felt completely free and completely chained at the same time. She wished that she had an empty apartment to go to, an empty refrigerator to fill, boxes to clutter the floor, dishes to litter the sink. But Ann did not really own much. She loved objects only for a limited time before she realized that they would never change. So Ann took a walk. She took a walk down to the nearest subway station and set herself down on a bright red, metal bench. The small holes dug into her back as she shifted her bag next to her on the right, it was relatively comfortable, albeit a bit too warm.

Her jeans may have been a bit too tight, but Ann definitely thought she looked good enough to sit in a subway station for kicks. She was slightly tense, because no matter how irrational she told herself it was, the odds of seeing Kirihara were slim to none. And she did want to see him, too. In the way that a person wants to go to their own funeral, or watch their house burn down. She tried to pick messy black hair out of the crowed like scanning for a high risk factors. Ann knew what she was doing, sort of. This rush of adrenaline was a gamble. There was a part of her, large enough to not be ignored , that wanted to know exactly how far she could push these boundaries, how far she could test his rage, or maybe, just maybe, she could turn this around. Maybe she could shift their relationship ninety degrees.

She could not imagine Kirihara being in love. Of course _love _was the first word that she thought of, because, naturally, she felt that she deserved it. She thought about him holding hands with a small child, or playing baseball with his father. She thought about his first crush, his first girlfriend, his first kiss…Ann cut herself off. Suddenly trying to not imagine his hands on her shoulders, how soft his stomach might be. She felt hot and dizzy at the same time, groaning to herself as she stretched her back into the metal bench.

Her subway rolled in, silver and relatively empty. The doors peeled open, invitingly. Ann stood up, choosing the last car. She took a deep breath, feeling the stuffy heat. The air was congested inside, nothing like the freer, colder air outside. Ann looked around hurriedly. There were three people in her car: a young woman, maybe the same age as herself, sitting alone, listening to her ipod with a sour look on her face; am old man, grinding his walker against the metal floor; and finally, a man with a hood, and a horrible-looking nose.

The door closed behind Ann, and she felt her breath freeze in her throat. Her heart began to pump blood to her legs, her eyes beat violently, her shoulders shuttered. "Shit." She said aloud. "Shit."

The man moved, not earning a look from the two other passengers. He moved awkwardly, sure of his movements, yet somehow unable to execute them properly. His pants hung around his knees, and he grabbed at them as he sat down. The train lurched forward as he settled into the seat directly in front of Ann, who was thrown against the pillar to her left. "You wanna sit down?" He asked.

Ann shrugged, as the fear slowly began to spread through her body. She moved carefully, sitting down in front of the man, regaining her composure after taking a glance at the digital strip that ran just along the car's ceiling. "Nice to see you again," She sighed, tangling her fingers together.

The man snorted. "I made an idiot out of myself. You and your boyfriend made me look like a fucking bitch in front of those guys."

"You are a bitch," Ann spat.

"You have your wallet on you?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Hand it over," The man said. Ann noticed a hand pressed firmly into the right pocket of his torn jeans. "I mean, I'd say that I don't want to hurt you, but I kinda do."

Ann wrinkled her nose, "Oh please. You don't have a gun or anything. Geez." She leaned back in her seat, feeling the sticky leather against the back of her neck. She was feeling a bit feverish now, sweating and shivering at the same time, while all the while trying to keep her voice steady. "Two stops from here, there's a police station less than a block away."

"Then I guess I have two stops to change your mind." The man grinned, using his entire face. He let the wrinkles overlap, and he flared his nostrils, probably unconsciously.

They waited. Only for about four minutes, but it was agonizing. Ann was not sure if she should pray that more people got into her car, or that no one did. She did not know if she should call someone for help, or find a public place, or try and solve it herself. The subway stopped. Ann looked around, slowly, as did the man. The doors opened, letting in a rush of air, but no people. Ann saw people getting in the other cars, but not hers. As the doors closed and the subway rolled into motion, Ann had convinced herself that nothing bad was going to happen to her. She did not have that much money in her pocket, but she did have her mother's emergency credit card. She reached into her bag, and pulled out her cell phone. "You should smile for the camera." She said.

"Don't you fucking dare."

There was six minutes until the next stop. Ann took a deep breath, putting her cellphone back into her bag. "So, when did you first know that you wanted to be a criminal?"

The man snorted, "You go hungry for too long, anything starts to look good."

It struck Ann, that most of the people she knew were not genuinely good. She could start with her own brother, so dedicated that he was forced to make sacrifices that resulted in the forgetting of the people on the sidelines. She thought about unhappy people doing unhappy things. She thought about Shishido, suddenly remembering Hyotei's last try at Nationals that he had not gone to. She thought about Fuji and Tezuka, a perfect symmetry, a long series of intrigue, how being together for them must be like going on an adventure, knowing that you were never coming home. She thought about Dan, stubborn and rude somehow in his obscene politeness, too afraid to actually believe that someone could love him. She wondered, if this man had ever disappointed people, if he ever left them hanging, if he refused to go on adventures, or if he decided he did not want to trust anyone anymore.

Ann leaned forward in the seat, she opened her mouth to say something, anything, but before she could, the subway stopped. The door slid open, and Ann felt her muscles tense. She did not look at the man as she bolted from her seat.

She almost threw up, the moment she felt cement under her shoes. Gasping for breath Ann heard footsteps thundering after her. There were people, there were people everywhere.

Her feet would not stop moving, the same way reflexes work in a boxing match. The limbs contort and flex simultaneously, fight or flight, like a shield of instinct. The passageway was tunnel-like, lined with crudely curved tile. Ann was running. She was running down a hallway, a deserted hallway. Just as the men's and women's washrooms came into view, she crashed. Her body collided with something sharp, something jagged and bony. She hit someone.

Her vision spun, eyes rolling around like marbles as she fell down into the tile wall. She slid down it, instantaneously, coughing and gasping the air back into her lungs. Her head burned, her hands shook. "Shit, shit, shit, shit." She spun around, wildly trying to get to her feet, only to slip and reel again as her head crashed into the wall.

Ann heard a thud and a cry of pain, as well as overlapping voices drifting up from the platform. She felt the world around her warp in and out of visibility as she heard three consecutive thumps and more cries. Wails, more like. Her left eye was still blurry and tears of pain stung down her face when the figure came into focus. She saw rigid shoulders, black jeans, white, white shoes. White broke through the dark mud of the body's clothes. She knew it. She knew the man was on the ground, she could hear him crying. Swear words filled the air as more voices mingled into her own, underwater ears. She knew the man was down the same way she knew that she had spilled her bag across the floor, the same way that she knew there were at least two women and one man running towards her, the same what that she knew it was Kirihara who stood over the man who was curled on the ground, holding his stomach. She stared hard at the man's face, fixated in sheer pain as Kirihara's foot came down on his nose with a sloppy crunch.

Ann sat against the wall for so long, she lost count of the minutes. People drifted in and out, the phrase _He slipped _ran through her head like it was recorded, flawlessly timed and appropriate. The man was lifted up, his body limp, but alive and taken to a hospital, so someone said. People took turns, coming to sit next to her, picking up the contents of her bag, patting her shoulder, offering a phone call or a taxi. She was being treated like a delicate victim, everyone's eyes were on her. Everyone was soothing and kind, but they did not last. They all had trains to catch, places to be, people to see.

"Stand up." Kirihara said.

Ann did not say anything back. She just stared dumbly at the blood on his shoe.

"You really can't do anything by yourself, can you?" He asked, but Ann knew she was not meant to answer it. "Fucking…" He trailed off.

Her breathing had long sense gotten back to normal, and one man, a doctor, and confirmed that she did not have a concussion, but might have a severe lump the next day. Ann felt bizarrely, carelessly powerful, sitting against a tiled wall. She had enjoyed being protected. "As it turns out…" She began slowly, discovering it for herself, "I'm a coward. Huh." Her mouth hung open is disbelief. "But I don't think that's right…that's not me. I stand up for people. I laugh in the face of danger. I try new things. I'm not someone who forgets about other people. I don't abandon them. I go on adventures. I'm open to everything…" And, she took a deep breath, "and I'm a coward." The gentle shield was cracking. Ann wondered if this was what sitting alone in an apartment would feel like. "I think this might be a dream."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ann saw Kirihara sit down next to her. Or, more like four feet away from her. "Nothing is ever a dream," He groaned. "And you are a coward."

"Why do you ride trains all day?"

"I have an unlimited ticket."

"Why?"

"My father."

"So you just ride trains…all day long."

Kirihara did not answer, only tapped the floor with his fingers.

"I don't understand you." He said after what seemed like five minutes. "Which is confusing…because you're not complicated."

"Not complicated," Ann agreed.

"I uh…" He dug his fingers into his hair. "I don't want to try to…get to know you." Ann felt herself unconsciously turn to him, resting her head against the cold tile. "I'm just…interested in what I know now. What I already have."

Ann did not inhale fully. She tried to slowly move her tongue around her mouth until she decoded the back-handed statement. She stood up, slowly; it was less difficult than she thought it would be. She brushed off her hair and rubbed her eyes before remembering the thin layer of makeup. "What is it," She began, "that you already know?" She felt the dreary heat creep under her sweatshirt, more so that it rode up lazily against her hip. She felt Kirihara stare at the expanse of skin peeking out from above her jeans. Ann was not trying to inhale deeply or look somehow aroused or in complete control of herself. It was just working. She took several small steps before turning to Kirihara. She bent forward, placing her hands on the wall above his head and stared down. "See, we're kinda opposite. Because I already know you. And I hate it." She swallowed. "I hate it so much. I hate the things you've done. I hate the person you are. I hate your captain for what he did to you. I hate your team for what they let you do. The only hope I have…is that I can try to get to know you better. And see something to sympathize with. Or something."

He glared up at her. "Don't say anything about Yukimura."

"He's an asshole."

"Hey—" Kirihara's eyes were nearly on fire.

"He's a bad person." Ann's body was on fire.

Ann let out a gasp as Kirihara's hand leapt at her collar. She fell forward, crashing down on her knee. "Don't say another word about him." Kirihara hissed. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Ann almost choked at their closeness. One hand still above Kirihara's head, the other digging into his shoulder. Her legs balanced between his. His left arm firmly clawing into her hip while the other clung to her kneecap. "I hate you." Ann mumbled.

"You still…" He mumbled back, breathing heavily against the side of her lips, "don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I know," Ann said, firmly pushing Kirihara harder into the wall. "I know 'cause I'm a coward. And I'm not interesting or complicated. But that's all you have, remember? And somehow, you're okay with it."

As she pressed her lips against his, Ann felt a dangerous fever spread through her body. As she felt Kirihara cave in beneath her, Ann felt herself falling farther and farther down, into someplace dark.


End file.
